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CHOICE    READING. 


CLOVERLY.    A  Story.    By  Mrs.  M.  R.  Higham 

12mo.     Cloth, 1  ?S 

A  hnsrht,  wholesome  story  of  family  life  in  the  country  ; 
*>'d  wifh  more  than  ordinary  skill,  and  bubbling  over  with 
bjvirkling  conversation*  a'.d  clever,  witty  sayings.—  TTu 
PLbluifie)  f'  Weekly 

PEMAQUID  :  A  Story  of  Old  Times  in  New 

England.  T?y  Mrs.  E.  Prentiss,  author  of 
"  Stepping  Heavenward."  Six  illustrations. 
12mo.  Cloth.  $1.50.  Paper  covers,  .  1  00 

The  strnctare  of  the  book  is  altogether  unique,  and  has 
a  charm  of  its  own.  It  is  not  a  continuous  narrative,  but 
the  characters  are  made  to  introduce  themselves  and  to 
portray  the  persons  and  incident?  of  the  ntory — from  their 
ceveral  points  of  view-in  language  and  coloring  peculiar 
to  themselves—  The  Evanrjf-lM  (N.  Y.) 

The  book  has  a  Held  of  its  own.  It  will  be  read  with 
pleasure  by  a  large  circle.— 2V.  Y.  Observer. 

WHITE  AS  SNOW.  By  Edward  Garrett,  au- 
thor of  "  Occupations  of  a  Retired  Lite,"  and 
Ruth  Garrett.  12mo.  Cloth,  .  .  .  100 

A  cluster  of  half  a  dozen  stories  in  as  many  chap'.eri. 
The  book  is  a  very  enjoyable  one.  aud  when  we  finished 
the  last  story,  we  would  willingly  bar  e  re  id  a  few  more  of 
ihe  same  sort. —  Christian  Union. 

FAITH  AND  PATIENCE;  or,  The  Harring- 
ton Girls.  A  Story  by  Sophy  Winthrop. 
18mo.  Cloth,  red  edges,  75c.  16mo.  Paper,  oOc. 

White  edge^, )  00 

Faith  and  Patience  are  the  names  of  two  very  lovable 

tharacters  wkote  virtues  are  portrayed  in  this  very  simple, 

nut  fascinating  story.- Evening  Journal  (Albany). 
As  a  whole,  for  a  little  hook  it  excels.    The  tears  would 

it/me,  and  BO  would  the  broad  smile,  autf  then  the  fli»l, 

w    'vigh     Get  Faith  and  Hatii;:  ce.— l>rori<ie><ce  Press. 

ANSON  D.  F.  RANDOLPH  &  CO. 

900  BROADWAY,  COR.  2Ofk  «T     ~*Vr  VOR* 
*«/  btf  mail,  pott  free,  on  receipt  qf  price. 


OUR    TWO    LIVES; 


GRAHAM    AND    I 


BY 

A.    Hi    K. 


NEW  YORK: 
ANSON   D.   F.   RANDOLPH  &  COMPANY, 

900  BROADWAY,  COR.   2Oth   ST. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  In  the  year  1878,  by 

AKSON  D.  F.  RANDOLPH  &  Co., 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington,  D.  CL 


EDWARD  O.  JENKINS.  ROBERT    RU 

fR'NTER    AND    STEREOTYPER.  BINDER, 

*>  N.  WILLIAM  ST.,  N.  Y.  M  HUMAN  »TMI 


OUR    TWO    LIVES. 


CHAPTER  I. 

HERE  it  is;  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  and  I  have  but  just  now 
remembered  that  this  is  the  anniversary 
of  my  marriage-day  !  It  seems  heathen- 
ish not  to  have  thought  of  it  before; 
but  my  hand?  have  been  fully  occupied, 
and  there  are  days  when  a  housekeep- 
er has  little  time  for  sentiment.  Now  I 
have  remembered  it,  thoughts  and  feelings 
crowd  thick  and  fast  on  brain  and  heart. 
How  long  back  in  the  past  my  marriage 
seems !  Yet  it  was  only  five  years  ago  to- 
night. 

How  vividly  it  all  rises  before  me — that 
dear  old  parlor,  where  I  stood  under  grand- 
father's picture  ;  the  wreath  of  white  roses 

I*  (5) 


6  OUR   TWO  LIVES. 

round  it ;  the  throng  of  faces,  felt,  rather 
than  seen ;  the  voice  of  the  aged  pastor, 
whom  I  loved  like  a  father,  and  whose  bene- 
diction still  lingers  in  my  ear — these,  and 
the  thrilling  sense  of  unseen  witnesses,  all 
come  back  to  me  now. 

Was  it  a  mere  fancy  that  my  dear  father, 
who  would  have  been  so  deeply  moved  at 
giving  his  only  child  into  the  keeping  of 
another,  was  near  me  then,  though  the 
green  turf  had  been  lying  many  a  year  on 
his  beloved  face  ?  Was  he  not  really  there, 
knowing  and  sympathizing  in  my  joy  ? 
Could  all  this  be  taking  place  in  my  life, 
and  he  feel  no  interest — he  who  had  always 
watched  over  me  with  such  intense  anxiety  ? 

It  is,  of  course,  impossible  to  answer  such 
a  question;  but  I  know  that  the  conscious- 
ness 1  had  of  his  presence,  if  only  a  pleasing 
fancy,  gave  an  added  sacredness  and  joy  to 
the  occasion. 

After  my  engagement  to  Graham,  I  had 
been  tortured  by  doubts  and  misgivings — 
not  of  him,  but  of  myself.  I  knew  I  loved 


OUR   TWO  LIVES.  j 

nim  truly  and  tenderly;  but  I  was  in  all 
things  so  much  his  inferior,  bringing  him 
no  dower  of  wealth,  or  grace,  or  beauty. 
Could  I  hope  to  make  him  happy,  anJ 
should  I  ever  become  what  he  had  a  right 
to  expect  his  wife  to  be  ? 

I  was  nothing  but  a  poor  little  school- 
teacher, and  he  was  the  only  son  of  the  old- 
est family  in  the  county,  having  intellect, 
education,  and  family  connections  to  boast 
of — not  wealth,  though — I  do  not  think  I 
could  have  married  him  if,  in  addition  to  all 
the  rest,  he  had  been  wealthy ; — but,  by 
some  accident,  that  had  been  lost,  and  he 
had  only  his  profession,  with  a  small  pit- 
tance added,  to  begin  with.  But  the  King- 
ston family  pride  was  proverbial ;  and  I  was 
the  least  of  all  nobodies,  so  far  as  family  was 
concerned. 

But,  on  the  eve  of  my  marriage-day,  these 
doubts  fled  away,  and  a  great  peace  came 
into  my  soul.  Not  that  I  felt  any  more 
worthy;  but  I  placed  myself  and  my  future, 
by  a  new  consecration,  in  God's  hands; 


8  OUR   TWO  LIVES. 

giving  body  and  soul,  the  present  and  the 
future,  into  His  holy  keeping,  with  a  new 
sense  of  his  fatherly  love  and  care. 

I  think  I  may  say,  and  I  would  say  it  rev- 
erently, that  my  Heavenly  Father's  mar- 
riage gift  to  me  was  Faith;  a  sweet,  un- 
doubting  trust  in  His  nearness  and  protec- 
tion. I  was  all  weakness,  but  He  was 
infinite  strength,  and  His  strength  was 
an  exhaustless  fountain,  from  which  I 
might  always  draw;  therefore,  I  need  not 
fear. 

It  was  very  blessed  thus  to  rest,  as  it 
were,  under  the  shadow  of  His  wing,  and 
to  have  every  wave  of  doubt  and  fear  hush- 
ed into  peace  upon  my  marriage  morning. 

The  day  was  full  of  bustle  and  excite- 
ment; but,  while  the  surface  was  stirred  by 
thoughts  of  veils,  bridesmaids,  and  wed- 
ding-guests, deep  below  lay  the  unruffled 
peace;  and  I  took  my  marriage-vow  with 
the  sustaining  hope  that  God's  blessing 
rested  on  my  soul. 

Five  years  ago  to-day,  and  how  changed 


OUR   2  WO  LIVES.  9 

I  am  !  The  timid,  shy  girl  of  twenty-two  is 
now  a  practical  and  rather  stout  matron  of 
twenty-seven,  self-relying,  full  of  care,  and 
with  little  time  to  sentimentalize ;  only  that 
just  now,  when  Graham  is  away,  I  have 
gone  back  to  my  old  habit  of  scribbling.  It 
is  not  so  very  quiet,  though ;  for  my  two- 
year-old  Bessie,  "  Queen  Bess,"  as  we  often 
call  her  in  sport, — our  pet  and  darling, — is 
scampering  about  the  room,  full  of  mischief 
and  childish  prattle. 

Graham  was  right  when  he  said  marrying 
would  take  the  nonsense  out  of  me ;  it  did, 
and  I  have  grown  healthier  in  mind  and 
body.  How  could  I  help  it  with  such  a 
sensible,  patient  husband?  Not  but  that  he 
has  plenty  of  faults,  as  most  mortal  hus- 
bands have,  I  take  it  \  but  he  is  upright  and 
honest  to  his  heart's  core ;  a  manly  man, 
without  a  particle  of  meanness  or  jealousy 
in  him^a  man  whose  faults  I  can  forget, 
and  in  spite  of  them  thoroughly  honor  and 
respect.  I  am  thankful  for  this.  There  are 
plenty  of  men  whose  wives  can  never  re- 


fO  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

spect  them ;  and,  respect  being  wanting, 
marriage  must  be  a  sad  mockery. 

"  Who  live  true  life  can  love  true  love," 

Mrs.  Browning  says ;  and  none  others,  she 
might  have  added. 

My  home  is  not  in  the  least  like  my  girl- 
ish ideal  of  one;  that  was  a  sunny,  cosey 
little  cottage,  with  vines  and  verandahs  all 
about  it ;  this  is  a  square,  old-fashioned  cas- 
tle of  a  house,  every  room  marked  off  by 
straight  lines,  all  just  of  a  size,  and  opening 
into  a  broad  hall,  without  a  piazza  or  vine 
near  it ;  but  we  have  two  magnificent  old 
elms  waving  over  the  high  gambrel  roof, 
and  they  are  its  pride  and  glory.  It  cer- 
tainly is  a  handsome  old  house,  though  not 
in  the  least  adapted  to  me  ;  it  should  have  a 
stately  mistress  sweeping  through  it  in  silks 
and  satins,  doing  the  honors  royally  ;  while 
I  have  no  more  presence  than  a  midge,  and 
always  shrink  painfully  from  strangers. 

It  was  built  by  old  Mr.  Kingston,  Gra 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  \\ 

ham's  grandfather,  and  in  his  day  was  filled 
with  high-born  guests;  afterwards,  his  fa- 
ther lived  here  ;  and  two  years  ago,  at  his 
death,  Graham  decided  to  come  into  it, 
much  against  my  wish.  Our  first  home  was 
a  tiny  little  cottage,  brimming  over  with 
sunshine ;  with  small  parlors,  straw  mat- 
tings and  chintz-covered  furniture ;  and, 
more  than  all,  Baby,  herself  an  incarnated 
sunbeam,  had  been  born  in  it,  and  my  heart 
clung  to  every  board  and  nail.  This  was 
grand  and  gloomy,  with  old-fashioned  wood 
panelings,  dark-wall  papers,  solid  mahoga- 
ny chairs  and  sofas  covered  with  funereal 
hair-cloth,  and  having  a  mouldy,  unaired 
smell  about  everything  ;  just  the  house,  I 
told  Graham,  to  see  witches  and  hobgob- 
lins in.  And  to  think  of  bringing  Baby  into 
such  a  place  !  It  was  terrible  to  think  of, 
and  a  real  trial  to  me.  But  Graham  had 
set  his  foot  down,  and  would  hear  of  noth- 
ing else  ;  and  so,  wife-like,  I  submitted,  half 
crying  my  eyes  out  when  he  was  out  of 
sight,— calling  it  "the  old  crow's  nest,"  and 


12  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

all  soils  of  horrid  names.  I  took  that  time 
to  do  it;  because,  if  we  must  come,  I  did  not 
choose  to  bring  any  more  gloom  into  the 
dingy  old  place  with  me. 

It  was  natural  enough,  I  knew,  that  Gra- 
ham should  want  to  keep  the  old  family 
mansion  his  father  had  given  him  ;  and  we 
were  too  poor  to  own  two — but  it  was  a 
sore  wrench  to  leave  the  dear  little  "  Bird's- 
nest,"  as  we  called  the  cottage ;  and  I  cried 
like  a  baby  when  I  went  into  the  rooms  for 
the  last  time,  and  thought  of  all  we  had 
enjoyed  there  ;  not  that  those  three  years 
had  been  all  happiness;  but,  as  a  whole, 
they  had  been  very  bright,  and  no  other 
place  could  ever  have  such  precious  asso- 
ciations as  our  first  married  home. 

How  well  I  remember  the  day  we  moved  ! 
As  if  to  enhance  the  sadness,  it  was  one  of 
the  dismallest  of  May  mornings ;  not  rain 
ng  exactly,  but  so  raw  and  chilly  that,  like 
the  little  old  woman  in  the  nursery  rhyme, 
"  we  began  to  shiver  and  we  began  to 
shake,"  long  before  the  end  of  our  five 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  \<$ 

miles'  ride.  It  had  been  a  fearfully  busy 
time  ;  for,  as  if  preparation  for  the  flitting 
was  not  enough,  Baby  began  to  get  a  tooth, 
and  wailed  day  and  night,  as  if  her  little 
heart,  too,  was  breaking  over  the  change ; 
so  I  had  not  been  over  to  the  new  (or  rather 
the  old)  house ;  and  Graham  had  said  he 
would  see  that  things  were  all  put  to  rights 
there.  Putting  "  to  rights,"  after  a  man's 
fashion,  it  would  be  ;  and  I  groaned  in  spirit 
at  the  prospect.  We  were  to  take  over 
what  little  we  had  in  the  "  Bird's-nest ;"  but 
the  main  part  of  the  house  would  keep  the 
same  old  furniture. 

Weary  and  sad  enough ;  and,  I  fear,  re- 
bellious, too,  did  I  feel  when  I  clambered 
up  into  the  carry-all  that  day,  or  rather  on 
to  it ;  for  everything  that  had  not  gone  be- 
fore was  crowded  into  that  till  it  was  a 
sight  to  behold — behind  and  before,  under 
the  seat  and  over  it,  back  of  us,  front  of  us, 
right  of  us,  left  of  us,  over  us  and  under  us, 
were  packed,  squeezed,  jammed  and  ram- 
med, boxes,  baskets,  bundles,  pails,  pitchers, 


I4  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

pots  and  pans — till  the  whole  looked  as  if 
old  Chaos  had  come  back  again  ;  and  on 
the  top  of  everything  I  was  perched,  with 
Baby  in  my  arms,  so  covered  up  with 
shawls  and  blankets  that  nothing  but  the 
remotest  end  of  her  dear  little  nose  could 
be  seen.  How  Graham  ever  got  himself  in, 
in  addition,  remains  to  me  a  miracle  to  this 
day ;  but  he  did,  and  drove  us  over. 

Not  much  was  said  on  the  way,  the  raw- 
ness creeping  into  our  very  bones  and  chill- 
ing our  spirits ;  indeed,  I  kept  my  mouth 
shut,  on  principle,  sure  that  something  hate- 
ful would  pop  out  if  I  opened  it.  We  went 
slowly,  of  course,  with  all  that  breakable 
freight  on  board ;  so  the  weather  had  time 
to  change,  and  the  clouds  had  lifted,  and 
a  watery  gleam  of  sunshine  struggled 
through,  as  we  drove  into  the  broad  street 
of  Ash  wood  ;  but  never  was  a  mortal  in  a 
more  unamiable  frame  of  mind  than  I,  when 
having  been  extricated  from  the  carry- 
all, I  dragged  myself  up  the  back  door 
steps. 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  15 

Baby  had  been  asleep,  but  woke  up  just 
then,  and  gave  a  succession  of  howls  as  her 
father  carried  her  in  ;  exhausted,  I  dropped 
into  the  nearest  chair  and  took  her ;  the 
poor  little  thing  was  as  cold  as  a  frog,  and 
it  seemed  an  age  before  we  could  get  her 
milk  warmed,  during  which  she  screamed 
without  cessation  at  the  top  of  a  very  ex- 
cellent pair  of  lungs. 

"  Scream  on,  poor  Baby,"  was  my  mental 
ejaculation ;  "  it  is  fitting  you  should  enter 
this  old  dungeon  with  a  wail,  for  precious 
little  enjoyment  will  you  or  your  poor 
mother  ever  know  within  its  walls !" 

This  pleasant  contemplation  was  broken 
in  upon  by  a  cheery  voice  at  my  elbow, 
saying, 

"  Wife,  when  you  are  ready,  we  '11  go 
over  the  house,  and  see  what  is  wanting." 

How  like  a  man,  never  tired  himself  or 
dreaming  anybody  else  can  be  !  What  my 
soul  craved,  was  to  sit  in  that  dusty  chair  in 
that  disordered  kitchen  the  remainder  of  my 
natural  life;  but  Baby  having  drunk  her 


l6  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

milk  like  a  little  pig,  and  gone  back  to 
dream-land,  had  been  dumped  down  on  a 
pile  of  blankets ;  so  there  was  no  reason 
why  her  cross  mother  should  not  follow  her 
lord  and  master  on  an  exploring  expedition 
round  the  house. 

First,  we  went  into  the  broad  hall  that 
ran  through  the  house,  paneled  with  dark 
wood,  with  a  spacious  staircase  and  broad 
landings,  on  one  of  which  a  tall,  old  clock 
was  dismally  ticking  off  the  minutes.  This 
would  have  been  called  elegant  by  many, 
but  not  by  me  in  that  frame  of  mind;  it 
simply  looked  cold  and  cheerless.  It  was 
the  same  with  the  large,  dim  parlors; 
everything  was  heavy,  rich,  and  unhome- 
like. 

I  made  few  comments,  still  keeping  my 
mouth  shut  on  principle;  but,  as  Graham 
talked  incessantly,  seeming  in  remarkably 
find  spirits,  no  one  noticed  it. 

At  length,  Graham  opened  a  door  with 
a  great  bang — he  always  will  bang  a  door — 
leading,  at  the  back  of  the  hall,  into  what 


OUR    TWO   LIVES.  i* 

we  had  fixed  on  for  a  sitting-room,  it  being 
somewhat  less  cheerless  than  the  others, 
though  cheerless  enough  to  me. 

But  what  did  I  behold !  Was  I  dream- 
ing ?  Had  I  lost  my  eyes  and  got  a  new 
pair,  or  what  was  it  ? 

An  enchanted  palace,  a  fairy  grotto,  a 
bower  of  beauty  lay  before  me.  In  sober 
English,  a  room  with  sunlight  streaming  all 
ove±  it  from  a  new  bay-window,  with  a 
bright,  flower-strewed  carpet  on  the  floor ; 
chairs,  easy -chairs  and  lounges,  covered 
with  lively-patterned  chintz ;  hanging  bas- 
kets, from  which  drooped  lovely  vines,  with 
pretty  pictures,  carved  brackets,  statuettes 
and  vases  scattered  everywhere  about — the 
very  realization  of  my  ideal  of  a  charming 
sitting-room. 

I  don't  know  what  I  did  ;  something  very 
absurd  in  the  way  of  hugging  my  husband, 
and  dancing  about  the  room,  I  fear ;  for  it 
all  came  over  me  in  a  flash  how  hard  he  had 
been  working  to  give  me  this  surprise  ;  how 
long  ago  he  must  have  planned  it,  and  how 
2* 


1 8  OUR   TWO  LIVES. 

carefully  he  had  consulted  my  taste  in  every 
little  detail.  I  did  not  think  it  had  been  in 
him  to  do  such  a  thing,  the  dear  old  dar- 
ling ;  and  I  meantime  fretting  and  repin- 
ing ! 

I  tried  to  tell  him,  but  he  never  fully 
knew  —  only  one  could  do  that  —  how 
ashamed  of  myself  I  felt ;  and  how  fer- 
vently I  resolved  there  should  always  be — 
God  helping  me — the  sunshine  of  love  and 
peace  in  that  old  house  ;  yes  always,  let 
whatever  of  outside  gloom  might  come  ! 

If  husbands  did  but  know  what  an  in- 
centive to  good  behaviour  gratitude  is ! 
Mine  does  know ;  and  this,  I  am  sure, 
is  one  great  secret  of  what  little  good- 
ness as  a  wife  I  have  shown  in  these  five 
years. 

Out  of  this  ideal  sitting-room  opened  a 
large  airy  bed-room  ;  on  that,  too,  a  fresh 
wall -paper  had  been  hung,  over  which 
pretty  bright  flower-wreaths  ran  ;  just  the 
paper  to  study  if  I  should  ever  be  obliged 
to  lie  in  my  bed  with  nothing  else  to  do — I 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  ig 

had  tried  that,  with  only  blank  white  walls 
to  cheer  me  ! 

If  I  were  a  good  fairy,  one  of  the  very 
first  things  I  would  do  would  be  to  put 
lively  pictures  or  cheery  wall-papers  on  the 
rooms  of  invalids ;  for  what  is  to  keep 
hosts  of  such  from  going  frantic  by  gaz- 
.ng  on  blank  white  walls  with  their  poor, 
longing  eyes,  which  must  look  somewhere, 
day  in  and  day  out — and  alas !  alas !  too 
often,  night  in  and  night  out  besides — I  am 
sure  I  don't  know. 

These  lovely  rooms  made  the  whole  house 
brighter,  and  by  degrees  I  managed  to  get 
every  part  of  it  aired  ;  as  the  sun  shone  in, 
the  ghosts  and  spiders  trooped  out,  and 
Baby  crows  there  now,  as  merrily  as  she 
ever  did  in  the  cottage ;  and  her  tiny  feet 
go  pattering  up  and  down  the  great  hall,  as 
though  it  had  been  made  for  her  to  romp 
in,  with  no  fear  of  the  ancestral  Kingstons 
before  her  eyes,  the  darling  ! 

So  to-day,  though  my  preference  would 
still  be  for  a  smaller  house  ;  and  I  do  not 


20  OUR   TWO  LIVES. 

yet  feel  quite  at  ease  in  the  company  par- 
lors, always  managing  to  get  my  guests  into 
the  sitting-room,  if  possible — I  flatter  myself 
there  is  a  warm,  human  atmosphere  pervad- 
ing the  whole  house ;  and  my  heart  swells 
with  unutterable  gratitude  when  I  remem- 
ber how  much  I  have  enjoyed  here,  and 
how  good  God  has  been  to  me,  to  us  all,  in 
these  two  years. 


CHAPTER  II. 

I  HAD  written  that  chapter  and  just 
laid  down  my  pen,  when  I  saw  Miss 
Patty  Train  coming  up  the  yard.  As 
soon  as  she  had  taken  breath,  after  plump- 
ing herself  down  into  a  rocking  chair, 
she  began  to  open  her  budget  of  ca- 
lamities, talking  in  her  hoarse,  croaking 
tones,  that  always  reminds  me  of  a  tomb- 
stone. 

"  I  'spose  you  know,  Miss  Kingston,"  she 
said,  "  there's  scarlet  fever  down  to  Beebe's : 
Laury  and  Tom  are  both  down  with  it,  and 
the  doctor  says  Laury  won't  live  the  night 
out.  She's  jest  the  same  age  as  your  Bet- 
sey, born  the  very  day  after.  I  allus  re- 
member that,  because  I  was  in  to  Miss 
Beebe's  that  very  afternoon ;  and  Sally  Mor- 
gan, she  was  there  too  ;  and,  says  she,  '  Law- 

(21) 


22  OUR   TWO  LIVES. 

yer  Kingston 's  got  a  baby  born  last  night, 
and  they  are  mighty  tickled  about  it.' 
'  They  'd  better  not  feel  too  crank,'  says  I ; 
'  'taint  noways  likely  'twill  live  long ;  wo- 
men like  her  don't  have  babies  with  any 
constitution.  She  has  lived  a  spell,  you 
see,  but  then  she's  allus  been  a  puny,  weak- 
ly thing,  and  she  ain't  had  nothin'  yet — no 
scarlet  fever,  nor  mumps,  nor  measles,  nor 
whoopin'  cough — them's  what  carries  child- 
ren off,'  I  tell  'em." 

My  Bessie  puny  and  weakly  !  Who  ever 
heard  such  nonsense  ?  Yet  it  frightened  me 
to  hear  of  scarlet  fever  in  the  neighborhood, 
the  one  disease  I  had  stood  in  mortal  terror 
of  ever  since  Bessie  was  born. 

41  It  'ud  go  hard  with  Betsey  if  she  was  to 
get  the  fever,"  croaked  on  Miss  Patty,  in  her 
dismallest  tone,  "and  she's  been  exposed, 
for  Miss  Beebe  says  she  see  you  and  her  go 
into  Tim  Maloney's  t'other  night ;  and  Tim's 
Pat  had  just  that  minute  gone  out  of  Miss 
Beebe's  kitchen,  where  Miss  Beebe  was  a 
settin'  with  Laury  in  her  lap,  trying  to  warm 


OUR    TIVO    Lfl'ES.  23 

her  up  a  little  by  the  kitchen  stove,  and  she 
was  just  a  breakin'  out  with  the  rash, — the 
very  time  to  give  it.  '  I'll  jest  run  round 
and  tell  her,'  says  I,  '  for,  like  as  not,  Miss 
Kingston  hain't  heard  a  breath  about  it,  and 
ain't  a  mite  worried  about  Betsey.'  " 

Yes,  I  had  stepped  in  at  Tim  Maloney's 
that  night  to  see  his  wife  about  some  wash- 
ing, and  Bessie  and  Pat  had  stood  close  to- 
gether staring  at  each  other  as  children 
will;  and  he  just  from  the  side  of  Laura 
Beebe,  who  was  dying  of  scarlet  fever !  I 
could  not  help  feeling  a  good  deal  alarmed.. 

'-'  How  was  Laura  first  taken  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  just  as  they  allus  be ;  fust  hot  and 
then  cold  ;  and  all  to  once  she  was  in  a  rag-in' 
fever,  and  her  skin  as  red  as  any  beet  you 
ever  see.  They  didn't  send  for  no  doctor, 
thinkin'  at  first  'twan't  nothin'  but  a  cold ; 
but  as  soon  as  he  laid  his  eyes  on  her,  he 
raid  she'd  die.  If  I  was  you,  Miss  Kings, 
'.on,  I'd  clap  a  mustard  poultice  onto  Bet- 
sey's stomach,  and  get  her  feet  into  hot 
water  as  quick  as  ever  I  could,  and  then 


24  OUR  Tiro  LIVES. 

put  her  to  bed  with  a  dose  of  seeny ;  'twon  I 
do  her  no  harm,  you  know — and  her  face 
does  look  proper  red,  I  declare !" 

Bessie  had  just  come  in,  her  cheeks  all 
aglow  from  romping  in  the  garden.  I  calle^ 
her  to  me,  examined  her  pulse,  looked  at 
her  tongue,  felt  of  her  skin,  and,  alarmed  as 
I  was,  could  find  nothing  out  of  the  way  ; 
and  once  more  running  my  eye  over  her 
sturdy  little  figure,  broad  chest  and  ruddy 
cheeks,  could  not  help  saying,  a  little  tri- 
umphantly : 

"  I  don't  call  that  a  puny  child,  Miss 
Train." 

"  Them's  just  the  ones  to  be  took  off  sud- 
denly," she  said  ;  "  the  fever  '11  go  harder 
with  her  for  being  so  full-blooded.  I'd  give 
her  a  dose  of  physic  anyhow,  'twon't  do  her 
no  harm,  you  know." 

I  did  not  agree  with  Miss  Patty  there  ;  a 
dose  of  nauseous  drugs  to  disturb  and  irri- 
tate her  stomach  would  be  sure  to  do  a  well 
child  harm  ;  but  I  was  weak  enough  to  soak 
her  feet,  and  give  her  aconite,  because  she 


OUR   TWO  LIVES.  2$ 

happened  to  cough  once  or  twice,  and  said, 
"  Yes,  mummer,"  when  I  asked  her  if  her 
throat  was  sore.  To  be  sure  she  said,  "  Yes, 
mummer,"  with  equal  alacrity,  when  I  asked 
if  her  throat  felt  well;  but  Miss  Patty's 
croak  had  taken  effect ;  the  child  might 
have  been  exposed,  her  flesh  did  seem  hot, 
Graham  was  gone;  and  what  if  anything 
should  happen ! 

My  eyes  filled  with  tears  when  she  lisped 
her  "  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep,"  and  I 
kissed  her  more  passionately  than  ever. 
Oh,  how  fervently  I  prayed  that  night  that 
God  would  spare  me  my  sweet  lamb  ! 

I  had  a  restless  night,  constantly  watch- 
ing Bessie's  breathing,  and,  fancying  it  was 
too  quick,  more  than  once  lighting  the  lamp 
to  see  if  there  had  been  any  change,  and 
wondering  if  it  would  not  be  safer  to  have 
the  doctor  in  the  morning.  Graham  would 
not  be  home  till  night,  and  I  always  felt  so 
helpless  when  he  was  gone. 

In  the  morning,  I  had  partly  slept  off  my 
alarm,  yet  not  entirely,  and  I  anxiously 


26  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

watched  the  child  as  she  played  with  ner 
tiny  cups  and  saucers. 

"  Suddenly  she  said,  "  Now,  I'll/ay /"  and, 
bowing  her  curly  head,  she  murmured, 
"  Our  Fader  who  art  in  Heaven  ;  for  Christ's 
sake,  Amen." 

At  another  time,  I  should  not  have  noticed 
this ;  but  when  she  pushed  back  her  play- 
things and  began  to  sing,  rocking  back  and 
forth  in  her  little  chair, 

"Jesus  loves  me,  when  I  die 
He  will  take  me  to  the  'ty,' 

it  affected  me  strangely,  and  I  telt  as  if 
Jesus  were  going  to  take  her  to  Him- 
self. 

"  I'll  send  for  the  doctor,"  I  said ;  "  that 
can't  do  any  harm,  as  Miss  Patty  says." 

But,  just  then,  the  door  opened,  and  Gra- 
ham's dear  old  homely  face  looked  in ; 
the  face  that  always  brings  sunshine  and 
strength  with  it. 

"  The  Court  adjo:irned  last  night ;  so  you 
see  I  am  home  twelve  hours  sooner  than  I 


OUR   TWO  LIVES.  27 

expected.  But  what's  the  matter,  wife? 
you  look  forlorn  !" 

I  felt  far  less  forlorn  with  his  strong  arm 
around  me  ;  but  I  told  him  about  the  scarlet 
fever  and  my  fears.  He  looked  at  the  child 
anxiously ;  a  moment,  then  caught  her  up 
in  his  arms,  tossed  her  up  to  the  ceiling,  and 
shouted : 

"You  old  Mother  Bunch,  you  are  the 
wettest  child  in  town,  Miss  Patty  Train  to 
the  contrary,  notwithstanding." 

"  I,  too,  could  laugh  then,  though  I  watch- 
ed the  child  closely  for  a  week  or  two. 

That  night,  when  Baby — we  still  call  her 
so,  the  darling — was  asleep  in  her  little  crib, 
Graham  laid  down  his  newspaper  and  pro- 
posed to  read  to  me,  as  he  often  did  at 
evening. 

"  No,"  I  said,  "  I'd  rather  talk  to-night 
about  Bessie.  It  troubles  me,  Graham, 
when  I  see  how  I  cling  to  that  child.  If  she 
were  to  be  taken  away,  I  couldn't  bear  it — 
it  would  kill  me.  I  can't  say  '  Thy  will  be 
done,'  when  I  think  of  it.  Life  would  be  so 


28  OUR   TWO  LIVES. 

desolate — I  couldn't  live  without  my  baby  P 
— and  I  sobbed  hysterically. 

"  But,  my  dear,  if  ^ the  Lord  were  actually 
to  come  for  her,  don't  you  suppose  he 
would  help  you  to  give  her  up  ?  He 
doesn't  ask  you  to  give  her  up  now.  '  Dying 
grace,'  as  good  old  Deacon  Booth  used  to 
say,  '  doesn't  come  till  the  dying  hour,'  and 
that  is  as  soon  as  it  is  needed." 

"  But  I  ought  to  be  able  to  say,  «  Thy 
will  be  done,'  even  if  He  wills  to  take  her 
from  me." 

"And  can't  you,  Annie  ?  Don't  you  feel 
so  certain  that  He  wills  only  what  is  best 
for  you  and  for  her,  that  you  can  trust  him 
to  do  as  He  pleases  ?" 

"  But  His  will  might  break  my  heart,"  I 
cried,  "  and  I  can't  want  Him  to  do  that ! 
Can  you  say  it  ?" 

I  turned  and  asked  the  question  sharply, 
for  my  heart  was  sore,  and  his  coolness  irri 
tated  me. 

He  did  not  answer  at  once,  but  shaded 
his  face  with  his  hand,  and  thought. 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  29 

"  Yes,"  he  said  at  length,  his  voice  full 
of  emotion,  "  Yes,  Annie,  I  think  I  can.  1 
am  so  certain  He  knows  so  much  better 
than  we  whether  it  is  best  she  should  grow 
up  to  face  the  trials  and  temptations  of  life 
on  earth,  or  be  early  carried  to  lie  in  His 
bosom,  that  I  dare  not  take  her  future  into 
my  hands — dare  not  say,  my  will  be  done." 

"  You  don't  love  her  as  I  do,"  I  said,  still 
excited,  and  with  a  spirit  of  opposition  in 
my  heart ;  "  no  man  ever  does  ;  she  isn't  a 
part  of  your  very  life  as  she  is  of  mine." 

"  God  only  knows  how  very  dear  she  is 
to  me,"  he  said  ;  "  but  you  are  right,  Annie, 
no  man  can  love  as  a  mother  does." 

"  No,  indeed  !"  I  said.  And  I  went  to 
the  crib  and  stood  gazing  a  long  time  at 
Bessie  as  she  lay  across  it,  her  curls  all  in  a 
moist  tangle,  and  her  arms  thrown  out  in 
those  strange,  graceful  postures  sleeping 
children  manage  to  get  into. 

"  No,  no  father  loves  you  as  I  do,"  I  re- 
peated to  myself.  "  But  Christ  loves  her  as 
well,"  was  my  next  thought.  I  believed 


JO  OUR   TWO  LIVES. 

this  with  my  understanding,  but  I  did  not 
feel  it  in  my  heart.  Who  could  love  her  so 
dearly ;  or  depend  on  her,  as  I  did,  for  com- 
panionship and  solace,  for  sunshine  and  joy, 
every  minute  of  my  life  ? 

She  turned  over,  half-opened  her  rosy 
mouth,  and  cooed,  as  she  has  a  habit  of  do- 
ing in  her  sleep — perhaps  all  babies  do — but 
what  do  I  know  of  other  babies  ? 

It  would  be  hard  to  convince  me  that  any 
other  ever  had  such  cunning  little  ways  as 
mine.  What  was  she  dreaming  of — what 
seeing  in  that  soft  slumber  ?  Angels,  se- 
raphs, heaven  ;  who  could  tell  ?  I  bent 
over  and  kissed  her  forehead,  eyes,  cheek, 
and  lips,  and  then  each  soft,  dimpled  hand, 
my  tears  flowing  fast  meanwhile.  Could  I 
ever  give  her  up  ?  The  very  thought  of  it 
was  agony. 

I  sat  down  by  Graham,  leaning  my  head 
on  his  shoulder. 

"  Yes,  little  mother,"  he  said,  softly,  "  you 
love  her  best,  I  don't  doubt  that ;  but  1 
sometimes  wonder  if  we  have  any  just  idea 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  31 

of  what  true  love  is.  Love  certainly  forgets 
self,  and  thinks  first  of  the  good  of  the  loved 
one  ;  you  sacrifice  yourself  perpetually  for 
Bab}* — never  thinking  of  it  as  sacrifice,  be- 
cause you  love  her  so.  And  I  believe  you 
would  still  do  so  if  she  were  to  be  taken  to 
heaven — that  because  you  love  her  the  best, 
you  would  the  soonest  rejoice  in  yourself 
bearing  all  the  suffering,  knowing  she  was 
perfectly  and  forever  happy.  Yes,  I  think, 
you  love  her  even  well  enough  for  that, 
Annie." 

"  I  ought  to,"  I  said ;  but  I  wept  still, 
less  bitter  tears,  though. 

"  I  know  I  love  Bessie  a  great  deal  too 
well,"  I  murmured.  "  I  have  known  it 
ever  since  she  was  born,  and  it  worries 
me." 

"  T  don't  think  so,"  said  Graham.  "  1 
doubt  if  we  can  love  too  well.  God  is  all 
love,  and  the  more  we  are  like  Him  the 
more  we  shall  love;  the  trouble  is  not  in 
the  quantity  but  the  quality  of  our  love.  If 
it  were  wholly  pure,  wholly  unselfish,  it 


32  OUR    Tiro  LIVES. 

couldn't  be  too  deep  or  intense ;  foi  all 
true  loving  lifts  us  to  a  higher  plane,  bi  ing- 
ing  us  nearer  to  God  and  the  eternal  good- 
ness." 

It  was  not  quite  clear  to  me  that  he  was 
right. 

"  We  may  love  an  unworthy  object,"  I 
said,  "  and  that  doesn't  elevate  us.  Take, 
for  instance,  a  wife  with  a  bad  husband  ;  she 
loves  him  doatingly;  and,  for  that  irason, 
tolerates  his  vices,  and  thus  lowers  her  own 
moral  tone,  unconsciously  coming  down 
nearer  to  his  level  every  day  she  lives  with 
him."' 

"  T  don't  agree  with  you,"  said  Graham. 
"  If  her  love  is  true  love,  that  is,  free  from 
selfishness,  I  think  this  very  love  makes  her 
clearer  to  see  and  quicker  to  feel  her  hus- 
band's faults,  just  in  proportion  to  its 
strength  ;  and  that  the  more  she  loves  him, 
the  more  she  will  shrink  away  from  his  sins 
with  loathing,  while  loving  the  sinner  ten- 
derly.  There  is  Mary  Beebe,  with  her  in- 
temperate husband  ;  she  don't  love  his  vices. 


OUR    TWO  LIVES. 


33 


but  him,  in  spite  of  them ;  and  her  own 
soul  has  been  growing  constantly  whiter  in 
all  these  years  of  agony." 

"  Yes  ;  I  own  it  is  so,  in  her  case,"  1  said. 

"And  how  God  loves  sinners,  while  infi- 
nitely abhorring  the  sin.  You  don't  sup- 
pose that  Christ's  loving  sinners,  and  mix- 
ing with  them  familiarly,  ever  degraded 
Him  ?" 

"  What  a  question,  Graham  !  Of  course 
not;  but  then  we  are  not  like  Him." 

"  No,  we  are  not ;  and  that  solves  the 
whole  difficulty  and  brings  me  back  to  my 
starting-point.  Pure  love,  love  like  Christ's, 
cannot  be  too  intense.  We  may  make  idols 
of  our  children,  but  it  is  when  we  cling  to 
them  selfishly  and  Or  our  enjoyment.  And 
the  way  to  remedy  it  is  to  love  them  in  the 
right  way,  not  less." 

"  It  is  astonishing  how  self  mixes  up  with 
all  thai  is  best  in  us,"  I  said. 

"Yes,  even  a  man's  love  for  his  wife  and 
children,  often  the  best  thing  in  him,  is 
pretty  sure  to  have  some  taint  of  selfishness, 


34 


OUR    TWO  LIVES. 


whether  he  knows  it  or  not.  It  creeps  even 
into  our  love  for  our  heavenly  Father ;  we 
too  often  think  of  the  joy  and  good  it  will 
bring  to  us." 

We  talked  a  good  while,  saying  how 
strangely  good  and  evil  were  mixed  togeth- 
er in  our  hearts,  and  how  disgusted  we  be- 
came with  ourselves  whenever  we  dared 
sift  our  motives  honestly. 

"  I  don't  know  how  those  who  believe 
men  are  born  pure,  account  for  all  the  bad- 
ness there  is  in  the  best  of  us,"  said  Gra- 
ham. "  I  should  have  believed  in  a  fall  if 
the  Bible  said  nothing  about  it ;  human  na- 
ture, as  it  is  revealed  to  us  every  day  of  our 
lives,  shows  so  much  that  is  wrong  and  un- 
like its  divine  original." 

"  So  much  that  is  good  and  beautiful, 
too,"  I  said.  "  Certainly,  I  have  great  faith 
in  the  perfectibility  of  human  nature,  but 
very  little  in  our  being  born  perfect  or  un- 
tainted." 

"  Even  the  baby,"  I  said,  "  shows  a  great 
deal  of  naughtiness  so  early,  the  germs  of 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  35 

what  will  become  real  badness  unless  check- 
ed." 

"Yes;  we  have  to  train,  not  an  angel, 
but  a  little  being  full  of  goodness  and  bad- 
ness curiously  mixed  together.  We  must 
strengthen  the  one  and  uproot  the  other." 

Then  we  talked  over  our  ideas  of  educa- 
tion and  family  government;  favorite  top- 
ics since  Bessie's  birth,  both  our  *heads 
being  brimful  of  delightful  theories,  most 
of  which,  I  must  say,  thus  far,  Baby  has  ut- 
terly upset.  Then  followed  an  evening 
prayer ;  the  time  when  our  souls  are  al- 
ways drawn  nearest  together — the  most 
precious  hour  of  all  the  day.  I  suppose 
there  are  husbands  and  wives  who  never 
pray  together;  but  how  far  apart  their 
souls  must  dwell,  and  how  little  they  cai? 
know  of  the  purest  enjoyment  a  true  mar- 
riage gives ! 

After  the  good-night  kiss  to  Baby — Gra- 
ham never  fails  to  go  to  the  crib  and  kiss 
the  darling  birdie  the  last  thing — we  went 
to  sleep,  at  least  Graham  did  ;  but  I  had 


36  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

that   question  of  submission  to  settle  with 
myself. 

It  was  one  of  those  nights  when  a  body 
thinks.  It  humiliated  me  to  see  how  little 
of  real  unselfishness  there  was  in  my  love 
even  for  my  child,  and  how  little  of  true 
submission  in  my  heart.  And  yet  it  seemed 
to  me  I  did  desire  to  be  unselfish  and  Christ- 
like;  but  I  was  so  far,  so  very  far  from 
being  it !  I  wanted  my  will  to  be  conform- 
ed to  His,  for  I  knew  it  was  a  good  and 
every  way  perfect  will ;  that  is,  I  wanted  it 
with  a  part  of  my  being,  while  a  part  of 
me  cried  out  for  selfish  indulgence,  and  to 
have  my  own  desires  gratified.  It  was  the 
old  antagonism  between  good  and  evil 
which  sometimes  asserts  itself  in  very  posi- 
tive forms.  The  spirit  of  a  child,  submis- 
sion to  its  father's  will,  was  what  I  ought  to 
have,  but  had  not.  I  wanted  my  own  way, 
especially  in  regard  to  my  child  ;  and  I  knew 
if  she  were  to  be  taken  from  me,  I  should 
rebel,  even  against  the  Almighty.  The 
question,  Could  I  give  her  up?  had  now 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  37 

risen  in  my  heart,  and  it  would  not  down  at 
my  bidding.  Was  I  then  a  rebellious,  in- 
stead of  a  dutiful  child ;  had  evil  more 
power  over  me  than  good  ?  I  prayed  long 
and  earnestly  to  be  made  better;  to  be 
made  loving  and  childlike  to  the  innermost 
depth  of  my  being,  and  after  many  hours 
of  struggle  there  came  a  calm  ;  the  billows 
grew  quiet,  as  of  old,  when  the  Lord  Jesus 
said,  "  Peace,  be  still."  A  new  conception 
of  God's  love  and  goodness  stole  into  my 
heart ;  I  saw  he  loved  me  tenderly,  even  as 
I  loved  my  child ;  how  then  could  he  harm 
me  ?  My  heart  glowed  as  I  thought  of  it ; 
and  I  whispered,  "Lord,  do  with  us  as 
Thou  wilt ;  I  am  Thy  child,  to  be  led  and 
governed  by  Thee,  and  my  child  is  Thine ; 
I  will  fear  no  evil,  for  Thou  art  with  us." 

Was  I  still  selfish  ?  I  was  still  thinking 
of  me  and  mine,  but  He,  who  knoweth  our 
frame,  I  hope  permits  such  consideration 
for  self.  In  time,  if  we  seek  His  aid,  we  may 
hope  to  be  lifted  out  of  ourselves  into  a 
wider  place,  and 
4 


38  OUK    TWO   LIVES. 

"  Change  the  dream  of  me  and  mine 
To  the  truth  of  Thee  and  Thine. 
Until  all  things  fair  and  good, 
Seem  our  natural  habitude." 


In  the  morning1  I  told  Graham,  "  I  hope 
I  can  say,  '  Thy  will  be  done  !'  " 

His  face  lighted  up  with  that  beautiful 
smile  which  always  comes  when  he  is 
pleased  to  the  heart's  core. 

"  He  wills  we  should  have  her  now  and 
enjoy  her,"  he  said,  taking  her  in  his  arms. 

He  is  by  nature  far  less  impulsive  than  I 
am  ;  and  God's  peace  seems  to  always-abide 
in  his  heart,  making  his  daily  life  beauti- 
fully consistent  and  unselfish.  O  what 
right  have  I  to  such  a  husband  ?  I  often 
ask  myself  this  question ;  but  he  is  mine. 
God  has  given  him  to  me  ;  and,  unworthy  as 
I  am  of  the  gift,  I  do  and  will  rejoice  in  it. 
I  do  not  lose  sight  of  his  faults,  though  I 
mean  to  think  of  them  only  enough  to  help 
him  as  a  true  wife  should ;  for  a  true  wife  I 
want  to  be,  not  a  blind  worshiper  or  a 
mere  echo  of  his  opinions,  as  some  wives  are 


OUR   TWO  LIVES.  39 

I  wonder  if  all  mothers  have  to  pass 
through  a  struggle  before  yielding  to  God's 
higher  claim  on  their  own  flesh  and  blood. 
Since  that  night  I  have  had  a  new  feeling 
toward  my  child;  because,  though  she  is 
mine,  given  to  me  by  God,  she  is  His  first 
and  foremost.  I  look  on  her  fair  young 
face  and  fold  her  to  my  bosom  with  an  ad- 
ded joy  and  tenderness,  my  little  God- 
given  treasure,  to  be  yielded  up  whenever 
He  shall  call  for  her ;  for,  much  as  I  love 
her,  I  know  He  loves  her  still  more  tender- 
ly, and  far,  far  more  wisely. 

But  I  hope  she  will  be  spared  to  us  for  a 
long  life-tirr.3  yet — if  it  be  His  will! 


CHAPTER  III. 

GRAHAM'S  careless,  easy  ways 
about  money  matters,  do  annoy 
me.  He  is  a  hard  worker  in  his  profes- 
sion, yet  he  never  makes  any  headway. 
Judge  Irwin  says  he  is  not  a  shrewd  lawyer. 
I'm  glad  he  isn't;  I  don't  consider  that  a 
fault !  He  is  apt  to  take  the  unpopular  side, 
and  get  poor  rather  than  rich  clients,  which 
isn't  a  fault  either,  only  sometimes  vastly 
inconvenient,  and  keeps  one  constantly  anx- 
ious lest  our  expenses  should  outrun  our 
means. 

The  house  and  grounds  ought  to  be  bet- 
ter kept  up :  this  might  be  made  such  a 
charming  place,  if  there  were  walks  cut  and 
shrubbery  and  flowers  put  out :  but  we 
cannot  afford  to  hire  it  done,  and  Graham 
has  no  more  idea  how  to  do  it  himself  than 


OUR    TWO   LIVES.  4I 

Bessie  ;  he  has  not  the  least  tact  or  capa- 
city for  working  with  his  hands. 

We  keep  the  lawn  well  mowed,  and  I  have 
a  tiny  flower-bed,  which  is  the  delight  of 
my  eyes ;  but  the  place  is  by  no  means 
what  it  might  be  if  my  husband  were  rich, 
or  what  Miss  Patty  calls  "  &  faculized  man." 
But  we  can't  have  everything ;  if  he  were 
shrewd  and  money -making,  perhaps  he 
wouldn't  be  the  high-minded,  upright, 
noble  man  in  whom  I  glory.  It  is  so  much 
to  know  one's  husband  can  never  be  bought, 
or  made  to  do  a  mean  thing  ! 


1  wrote  here  last  in  the  early  spring  ;  and 
now  the  golden  October  light  is  on  the 
elms.  It  has  been  a  charming  summer,  the 
pleasantest  of  my  whole  life.  Bessie  had 
no  scarlet  fever,  and  has  grown  plumper 
and  funnier  every  day.  She  is  almost  three, 
now,  though  she  hasn't  straightened  out  her 
grammar  yet,  and  still  talks  about  her 


42  OUR   TWO  LIVES. 

"  shoeses  and  stockingses."  I'm  in  no  hurry 
about  that ;  for  I  often  think,  with  a  sharp 
pang,  how  fast  the  charm  of  babyhood  is 
vanishing  out  of  her,  and  how  soon  she  will 
be  a  great,  tall,  awkward  girl,  unless  she 
takes  after  her  mother  and  is  an  underling. 
How  one  wants  a  child,  especially  a  daugh- 
ter, to  be  everything  that  is  beautiful  and 
graceful ! 

She  is  a  good  little  puss,  on  the  whole, 
though  she  often  needs  correcting,  and  is  by 
no  means  one  of  the  saintly  kind  that  terrify 
their  mothers  with  fears  of  early  death.  She 
is  pretty,  too,  with  , beautiful  complexion, 
large,  hazel  eyes,  and  brown  curls ;  at  least 
everybody  says  so,  and  her  mother  is  not 
disposed  to  contradict  it.  And  how  her 
father  doats  on  her !  I  should  hardly  dare 
say  now  I  love  her  best,  though,  of  course, 
it  is  in  a  different  way. 

Yes,  Queen  Bess  has  thriven,  and  my 
flower-garden  has  thriven,  the  twelve  feet 
square  having  dazzled  our  eyes  all  summer 
with  its  pinks,  verbenas,  gladiolas,  and  ge- 


OUR    TWO  LIVES. 


43 


raniums ;  while  the  little  bouquets  of  mig- 
nonette and  sweet-peas,  which  I  have  kept 
in-doors,  have  "  fragranted  the  room,"  as 
Bessie  phrases  it.  There  never  was  a 
lovelier  summer  ;  just  sunshine  enough  and 
just  rain  enough  to  keep  everything  fresh 
and  growing. 

Graham  has  thriven,  too,  and  in  such  a 
wonderful  way  as  astonishes  us  all,  having 
been  just  appointed  Reporter  to  the  Su- 
preme Court ;  and  Judge  Irwin  informs  me, 
with  his  most  pompous  bow,  that  "  it  is  an 
appointment  to  be  proud  of — a  distinction 
seldom  conferred  on  so  young  a  member  of 
the  Bar." 

Every  one  says  it  is  great  good  fortune, 
and  no  doubt  it  is ;  but  the  best  of  it  is  that 
he  deserves  it.  He  has  always  been  an  inde- 
fatigable student,  and  isn't  so  very  young — • 
thirty-five  last  June. 

"  His  thorough  knowledge  of  the  law,  his 
stainless  integrity,  as  well  as  his  fine  general 
scholarship,  admirably  fit  him  for  the  place ;" 
so  say  the  newspapers,  which  the  young 


44 


OUR    TWO  LIVES. 


wife  eagerly  devours — when  they  say  such 
things ! 

It  is  pleasant  to  know  he  is,  at  last,  appre- 
ciated ;  for  it  has  been  all  up-hill,  and  poorly 
paid  work  since  he  began  to  practice  until 
now;  this,  perhaps,  makes  success  all  the 
sweeter  now  it  has  come.  Then  it  is  so  nice 
to  have  the  salary,  which  will  make  us  really 
comfortable.  I  go  singing  about  the  house 
with  a  light  heart,  snatching  baby  Bess  up 
twenty  times  a  day,  devouring  her  with 
kisses,  and  telling  her  all  about  it. 

"  Fse  doin1  to  be  'Porter,  too,"  she  says. 

"  So  you  shall,  bless  your  little  heart !" 
Graham  answers ;  and  then  they  go  off  into 
a  game  of  romps,  the  usual  result  of  his  com- 
ing into  the  house. 

I  wonder  how  much  of  enjoyment  Jona- 
than Edwards  got  out  of  his  children,  who 
always  rose  up  when  he  entered  the  room, 
and  stood  silently  before  him  ! 

We  are  so  happy  now,  I  almost  tremble 
for  fear  it  will  not  last,  which  Graham  says 
is  very  foolish. 


OUR   TWO  LIVES.  45 

"  If  God  sends  us  joy,  he  asks,  "  why 
cloud  it  over  by  dreading  future  storms 
which  may  never  come  ?  Let  us  open  our 
hearts  and  take  in  all  the  brightness,  and  be 
thankful  for  it.  When  we  need  clouds  and 
storms  they  will  come,  and  the  Lord  will  be 
in  them  as  truly  as  in  the  sunshine." 

I  know  this  is  true,  and  I  will  try  to  enjoy 
everything  with  a  thankful  heart. 


I  wonder  if  it  is  wicked  not  to  like  all 
good  people.  I  don't  like  Mrs.  Professor 
Stone  —  that  is  the  name  she  puts  on  her 
card — and  she  is  good,  I  suppose,  in  her 
way.  I  am  always  annoyed  when  I  see  her 
coming  up  the  steps  in  her  ponderous  way ; 
she  .interrupts  whatever  I  am  doing,  and 
always  stays  to  tea ;  for,  being  the  second 
wife  of  a  man  who  married  my  husband's 
aunt  for  his  first,  she  considers  herself  a 
near  relative,  and  happens  in  often,  and  it  is 
trying.  I  hardly  know  why  she  is  so  dis- 


46  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

agreeable.  She  is  very  critical  for  one 
thing ;  and  when  I  see  her  coming  I  look 
into  every  crack  and  corner  to  see  if  there 
is  a  speck  of  dust  or  a  cobweb  anywhere ; 
for  I  know  her  eyes  will  look  straight  at  it, 
the  first  minute,  if  there  is.  I'm  afraid  she 
spies  at  the  dust  and  cobwebs  in  her  neigh- 
bors' souls  too ;  she  can't  help  it,  perhaps, 
but  it  isn't  pleasant  when  so  many  are  hang- 
ing around.  Then  she  has  a  canting  tone, 
when  she  speaks  of  religious  things,  which 
1  can't  abide.  Why  can't  she  talk  about 
these  naturally,  as  she  would  of  anything 
else,  and  not  in  that  sepulchral  voice  ? 

I  know  our  tones  naturally  become  re- 
verential in  certain  states  of  feeling ;  but  a 
whine  is  never  reverential.  She  is  very 
generous  in  giving  to  the  poor,  and  I  don't 
doubt  is  a  really  religious  woman  ;  but  I  am 
dumb  the  moment  she  begins  to  talk  on  re- 
ligious things.  Is  it  my  fault  or  her's  ? 

Yesterday  she  told  rae  about  Elliott 
Gray's  conversion.  Graham  and  I  had 
greatly  rejoiced  to  know  the  dear  boy  had 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  47 

begun  a  new  life,  and  had  talked  of  it  in 
tender  tones ;  but  she  put  on  her  longest 
face  and  dismallest  whine,  and  went  into  de- 
tails that  shocked  me.  I  suppose  conver- 
sion is  just  as  real  and  glorious  a  tiling  to 
her  as  to  me ;  but  I  could  never  talk  ol"  it 
in  that  way ;  so  she  thinks  I  have  no  feel- 
ing, and  intimated  as  much.  I  haven't  a 
particle  in  her  presence,  and  I  always  get 
her  on  to  housekeeping  topics  as  soon  as  I 
can. 

She  makes  splendid  hop-yeast  and  brown 
bread,  and  on  such  matters  is  really  edify- 
ing. She  thinks  I'm  a  frivolous  woman, 
whose  soul  never  kindles  on  higher  themes. 
How  can  she  think  otherwise?  I  don't 
blame  her  for  that ;  but  why  is  it  that  one 
person  will  draw  out  the  best  there  is  in  us 
and  another  shut  us  up  into  total  darkness  ? 
But  so  it  is,  and  I  do  not  see  how  it  can  be 
helped. 

After  tea,  Mrs.  Prof.  Stone  went  away, 
having  seen  the  grease  spot  on  the  kitchen 
floor,  the  canker-worms  on  my  rose  bushes, 


48  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

and  found  out  my  bread  was  slack-baked, 
and  my  preserved  quinces  a  little  pricked. 
I  consider  myself  a  good  housekeeper,  but 
things  are  always  wrong  when  my  keen- 
eyed  aunt-in-law  is  about;  at  other  times 
my  floor  is  clean,  my  bread  well  baked,  and 
my  fruit  sweet  and  delicious. 

It  troubles  me  that  I  am  so  stirred  up  by 
her ;  if  it  is  my  fault,  I  want  to  know  it.  So 
when  Graham  and  I  were  by  ourselves,  I 
said, — 

"  Is  it  wrong  not  to  like  disagreeable  peo- 
ple, even  if  they  are  good — Mrs.  Stone,  for 
example  ?" 

"We  certainly  ought  to  value  goodness 
above  everything  else,"  he  said. 

"  Of  course  we  had,  and  the  better  people 
are,  the  more  agreeable  they  ought  to  be ; 
but  then  they  are  not,  you  know ;  and  I 
don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  enjoy  a  bright, 
agreeable  person  whose  tastes  harmonize 
with  mine,  better  than  one  who  may  be  just 
as  good  at  heart,  but  has  all  kinds  of  hateful, 
uncomfortable  ways." 


OUR   TWO  LIVES.  49 

"  You  will  enjoy  tier  better,  of  course  ;  but 
we  ought  to  be  able  to  recognize  and  ad- 
mire genuine  goodness  everywhere  ;  it  is  so 
mucn  better  to  De  good  than  merely  pleas- 
ing.' 

"  Oh  1  know  all  that,"  I  said  ;  "  but  it  is 
better  to  oe  good  and  agreeable  than  good 
and  disagreeable — confess  that,  now." 

"  Certainty  '  he  said,  laughing,  "  and  for 
more  reasons  than  one  ;  an  agreeable  person 
has  so  ncucn  more  influence,  besides  making 
others  happier.  We  ought  to  be  pleasing 
just  in  proportion  as  we  are  good ;  but  we 
are  not,  as  you  say ;  faults  of  education  and 
natura.  peculiarities  are  not  all  at  once  rem- 
edies by  religion ;  in  time  it  must  soften 
everything  harsh  and  unlovely,  but  not  all 
at  once." 

"  And  above  all  things  I  hate  whining,"  I 
said  ;  "  whining  about  religious  things." 

"  Yes,  if  anything  should  make  a  person 

brignt  and  cheerful,  it  is  religion;  but  we 

are  not  all  made  up  alike  ;  we  can't  all  speak 

in  the  same  tones  ;  and  what  would  be  mere 

5 


go  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

affectation  in  one  person,  is  natural  to  an- 
other. I  sometimes  think,  dear,  you  are  a 
little  fastidious  in  mere  matters  of  taste; 
too  quickly  repelled  by  what  doesn't  suit 
you.  Want  of  taste  may  be  disagreeable, 
but  it  is  not  a  sin.  I  dare  say  Peter  and 
Matthew  and  Thomas  didn't  always  talk  of 
religious  things  in  an  agreeable  way." 

I  knew  what  he  meant;  they  were  low- 
toned  spiritually,  and  dreadfully  trying,  yet 
Jesus  never  became  impatient  with  them. 
Graham  always  thinks  what  Christ  would 
have  done,  and  so  keeps  calm  and  charita- 
ble, while  I  fly  out  into  little  tempests.  1 
was  not  hurt  by  what  he  said,  but  I  went 
and  did  just  what  I  didn't  want  to — began 
to  cry.  I  was  ashamed  of  myself,  but  I 
couldn't  help  it. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  grieve  you,  dear,"  he 
said  ;  "  forgive  me,  if  I  spoke  harshly." 

"  You  didn't,  and  I'm  not  grieved.  Don't 
go  to  thinking  I  can't  bear  to  be  told  of  my 
faults.  I  can.  I  want  to  know  them  and 
cure  them  ;  but  somehow  everything  has 


OUR   TWO  LIVES.  51 

gone  wrong  and  fretted  me  to-day.  I  do 
want  to  be  good  and  charitable,  and  love 
everybody  —  even  if  they  do  talk  through 
their  noses/'  I  added,  turning  my  sob  into 
a  laugh. 

"  I  know  you  do,  dear,"  and  then  he  said 
things  I  cannot  repeat;  he  always  so  over- 
values what  little  good  he  can  find  in  his 
poor  wife. 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  try  and  like  Mrs. 
Prof.  Stone,"  I  said,  when  this  affecting  lit- 
tle episode  was  over,  "her  whine,  sharp 
eyes,  and  all." 

"  Not  like  them,  Annie,  only  try  to  make 
the  best  of  them,  and  to  see  the  good  that 
is  in  her  instead  of  the  bad  ;  for  she  really 
is  a  good  woman,  in  spite  of  what  is  disa- 
greeable." 

It  is  curious  Graham  should  think  I  am 
fastidious,  considering  he  belongs  to  an  old 
aristocratic  family,  while  I  am  nobody.  I 
wonder  if  I  am?  Perhaps  I  do  feel  too 
much  annoyed  by  little  things.  I  know  I 
am  quick  to  see  the  ridiculous,  and  am  al« 


5  2  OUR   TWO  LIVES. 

ways  bringing  disgrace  on  myself  by  laugh, 
ing  when  I  shouldn't ;  it  is  well  I  am  not  a 
minister's  wife,  I  should  be  sure  to  get  him 
unsettled  in  a  month.  But  I  have  no  hard 
feeling ;  I  just  have  my  laugh,  and  it  is  all 
over.  I  don't  respect  Miss  Priscilla  Prouty 
any  the  less  for  wearing  a  huge  yellow  bow 
on  the  very  tip-top  peak  of  a  mazarine  blue 
bonnet;  but  I  couldn't  help  laughing  when 
she  came  mincing  along  up  the  aisle  and 
nid-nodding  her  head,  bonnet,  bow  and  all, 
if  it  was  in  the  meeting-house.  But  if  the 
poor  soul  had  seen  it,  it  would  have  hurt 
her  feelings.  I  must  be  more  considerate  ; 
less  a  child,  and  more  a  woman. 

Graham's  weakness  is  pride,  family  pride  ; 
he  doesn't  know  he  is  proud,  but  he  is  a 
real  Kingston  in  that  respect.  He  even  has 
a  traditionary  theory  that  the  Kingstons 
are  a  handsome  family !  Well,  all  I  can  say 
is  that  he,  for  one,  is  mortal  homely  ;  not 
that  I  care,  it  is  enough  for  a  man  to 
look  as  if  he  knew  something ;  but  I  often 
wonder  where  Bessie  got  her  beauty — not 


OUR   TWO  LIVES.  53 

from  her  papa  or  mamma,  I  am  free  to 
say. 

Miss  Katharine  Kingston  is  coming  here 
soon  for  a  week's  visit.  She  is  an  aunt  of 
Graham's : 

"  the  one  ungathered  rose 
On  her  ancestral  tree." 

and  he  says  she  is  tall  and  stately,  and  a  bit 
precise  and  prim.  I  hate  prim  people — I 
mean  I  don't  like  them,  and  am  always 
afraid  of  them,  shrinking  into  my  uttermost 
insignificance  in  their  presence. 

But  Graham  admires  Aunt  Katharine, 
and  I  can  see  is  specially  anxious  she  should 
like  his  little  wife  She  is  over  sixty,  I  be- 
lieve, and  very  highly  educated ;  rather 
strong-minded,  too,  I  fancy,  from  one  or  two 
things  he  has  dropped ;  "  certainly  a  little 
peculiar,"  he  owns,  on  being  cross-examined. 
Yes,  yes!  well,  most  people  are  peculiar. 
f  shall  try  to  do  my  best ;  and,  when  I  do 
that,  I  am  sure  to  make  a  miserable  failure ! 


CHAPTER  IV. 

BESSIE'S  birthday  — her  third  birth- 
day — came  on  a  sunny  October  day, 
as  bright  as  her  own  little  self.  Long 
before  it  was  time  to  get  up,  I  heard 
her  talking  to  her  dolly,  a  shoeless,  one- 
armed,  tattered  old  thing,  which  she  insists 
on  hugging  to  her  bosom  every  night. 

"  Does  'oo  know  'oo  is  free  years  old  to- 
day ?"  she  asked  it,  solemnly.  "  'Oo  is,  and 
I  must  div'  'oo  a  lot  of  soogar-plums,  and 
'oo  must  be  a  dood  little  dirl,  Mollie — 'oo 
mus'n't  pull  up  mama's  fowers,  nor  turn 
down  papa's  ink-tand,  nor  run  away,  nor  dit 
plums  out  of  mamma's  toogar-bowl,  'cause 
oo  is  a  big  dirl  now,  'oo  is." 

I  listened  awhile  to  this  chattering  non- 
ense,  and  then  opened  my  eyes.  As  soon 

(54) 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  55 

as  she  saw  I  was  awake,  she  bounded  into 
our  bed  and  was  hugged  and  kissed,  as  all 
three-year-old  damsels  are,  I  take  it,  on  their 
birthday  morning.  But  did  any  other  moth- 
er ever  love  her  baby  quite  so  well  as  I  do 
mine — had  ever  another  child  so  many  be- 
witching ways  ?  Pshaw  !  how  absurd  I  am  ; 
but  it  is  hard  to  believe  there  was  ever  an- 
other darling  quite  so  sweet ;  babies  never 
put  their  charms  on  exhibition  before 
strangers,  so  only  their  parents  see  their 
most  cunning  and  fascinating  ways.  But  I 
think  it  is  safe  to  say  no  baby  was  ever  more 
beloved  than  ours  has  been  from  her  very 
birth. 

She  had  a  little  birthday  party,  consisting 
of  four  little  girls  about  her  own  age,  and 
wore  her  white  tucked  dress,  and  had  a 
lovely  wreath  of  roses  round  her  pretty 
curls,  and  looked  like  a  real  queen  as  she 
sat  at  the  table  pouring  white  tea  into  her 
tiny  cups  and  saucers.  There  was  a  pretty 
frosted  cake,  with  a  wreath  round  it,  and 
each  child  had  what  Bessie  calls  a  "  tookey- 


jj  6  OUR    TWO   LIVES. 

man,"  -with  arms  projecting  at  right  angles 
to  his  body,  and  oranges  and   apples  and 
nuts,  and  all  "  went  merry  as  a  marriage 
bell- 
Right  in  the  midst  of  it  Miss  Katharine 
Kingston  arrived  :  tall  and  stately,  certainly, 
but  benignant,  too.     When  she  found  it  was 
Bessie  s  birthday,  she  insisted  on  going  out 
to  see  the  children  ;  and  when  she  had  kiss- 
ed them  all  round,  she  said, — 
"  It's  my  birthday  too,  Bessie." 
Bess  opened  her  great  eyes  wide  at  this, 
as  if  trying  to  comprehend  it ;  then,  her  face 
dimpling  alt  over  with  smiles,  she  said, — 
"  Den  we  jus'  of  an  age,  auntie !" 
"  So  we  are,  darling !   bless  you,  so  we 
are !" 

"Only  sixty  years  difference,"  she  said, 
turning  to  me. 

"  Did  'oo  have  a  take  and  a  birthly  party, 
auntie  ?" 

"  No,  not  a  bit  of  either,  darling." 
"  'Oo  sail  have  a  piece  of  my  take  and  a 
leg  of  my  man  tookey."    And  she  presented 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  57 

them  with  the  air  of  a  genuine  queen—"  a 
real  Kingston,"  Aunt  Katharine  said, — sy- 
nonymous terms  in  her  vocabulary,  I  fancy. 

I  don't  object  to  Bessie's  being  called  a 
Kingston,  since  I  have  seen  Aunt  Katharine, 
who  must  have  been  a  great  beauty  in  her 
day.  She  is  certainly  somewhat  peculiar  : 
very  tall,  perfectly  erect,  and  dressed  in 
quaint,  old-time  style,  with  funny  little  gray 
curls  lying  close  to  her  beautiful,  broad  fore- 
head ;  her  manners  are  of  the  old  style,  too, 
stately  and  formal,  yet  full  of  a  certain 
benignant  grace,  as  old  time  manners  are. 
How  impossible  it  would  be  to  call  her  Kate, 
or  Kitty,  or  by  any  less  royal  name  than 
Katharine,  which  always  takes  us  back  to 
the  court  of  the  old  Henries.  She  took  lit- 
tle Bess  into  her  heart  at  once :  it  was  for- 
tunate she  came  on  the  two  birthdays,  we 
were  all  brought  together  so  pleasantly  and 
easily. 

It  was  a  happy  day  from  morning  till 
night ;  and,  when  the  guests  had  gone,  I  un- 
dressed the  tired  little  queen,  too  tired  even 


58  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

to  say  her  prayer,  and  who  fell  asleep  in  my 
arms  before  she  was  fairly  got  into  her 
night-gown.  I  pressed  her  to  my  heart  that 
night,  with  a  new  sense  of  the  preciousness 
of  my  treasure.  Graham  and  Aunt  Katha- 
rine were  in  the  parlor  talking  over  old 
times,  and  I  could  not  help  staying  a  little 
while  by  her  crib  to  watch  her  in  her  rosy 
sleep. 

Would  my  precious  one,  I  wondered,  be 
as  sweet  and  innocent  on  her  next  birthday  ? 
Never  again  quite  the  baby  Bess  she  is  now 
that  is  impossible.  How  I  wished  I  could 
keep  her  always  three  years  old — a  little  in- 
nocent, sweet,  loving  child !  I  often  feel 
that  longing,  and  to-night  it  was  so  intense 
as  to  actually  be  a  pain.  I  know  how  unrea- 
sonable and  foolish  it  is.  Surely  the  angels 
will  watch  over  and  shield  my  darling  as 
the  years  move  on ;  and  He  who  "  giveth 
his  angels  charge  concerning  them,"  will  see 
that  her  soul  does  not  become  defiled  by  sin 
He  will  not  cleanse.  Why  should  I  fear  to 
commit  her  to  such  guardianship  ? 


OUR    TJVO  LIVES.  59 

Mothers  who  have  prayed  by  their  three- 
year-old  baby's  crib,  know  how  I  prayed 
that  night;  and  with  what  tearful  eyes  I 
looked  out  on  the  starry  sky,  as  I  lowered 
the  curtain.  Some  lines  I  had  heard  Gra- 
ham repeat,  kept  saying  themselves  ever  in 
my  heart, — 

"  God  gives  us  love.     Something  to  love 
He  lends  us ;  but  when  love  has  grown 
To  ripeness,  that  on  which  it  throve 
Falls  off,  and  love  is  left  alone." 

My  love  is  far  enough  from  ripeness  yet, 
and  I  am  glad  to  know  it  is  so. 

"Did  you  know  it  was  Aunt  Kathar- 
ine's birthday?"  said  Graham,  when  I  went 
back  to  the  parlor.  "  It  really  is  an 
honor  to  have  her  celebrate  it  by  coming  to 
us." 

"An  honor  and  a  pleasure,"  I  said,  and 
said  it  from  my  heart. 

"It  isn't  so  bad  a  thing  to  grow  old, 
as  you  young  folks  think,"  said  Aunt 
Katharine ;  "  it  is  only  getting  a  little 


60  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

nearer  home;  a  little  nearer  to  immortal 
youth." 

There  is  no  cant  or  whine  in  her  silvery 
voice  when  she  speaks  of  heaven ;  the 
"home"  is  evidently  so  present  to  her 
thoughts,  that  it  is  as  natural  to  speak  of 
that  as  of  anything  else  about  her.  So  dif- 
ferent from  Mrs.  Prof.  Stone's  way ;  one  re- 
pels, the  other  attracts  me.  For  aught  I 
know,  some  might  like  Mrs.  Stone's  way 
best ;  for  I  agree  with  Miss  Patty,  that  "  this 
is  a  curis  world,  and  there's  a  sight  of  curis 
folks  in  it."  I  suppose  we  are  all  curis  to 
somebody,  though  just  as  natural  as  life  to 
ourselves. 

It  is  really  charming  to  see  how  Aunt 
Katharine  and  Baby  Bess  get  on  together. 
I  never  knew  the  child  take  so  to  anybody 
before;  is  it  because  they  both  have  King- 
ston blood  running  in  their  veins?  Bessie 
has  queer  fancies  sometimes,  taking  to  some 
rough  old  man,  or  ragged  child,  and  draw- 
ing herself  haughtily  away  from  those  you 
expect  her  to  like;  and  she  can  never  be 


OUR    TWO   LIVES.  6 1 

coaxed  into  decent  treatment  of  those  she 
doesn't  like.  "  Just  like  her  mother !"  Gra- 
ham says — "  horribly  obstinate  !" 


It  has  been  a  charming  October  without 
and  within ;  we  kept  Aunt  Katharine  three 
weeks  instead  of  one,  and  her  visit  was  a 
great  pleasure  to  us  all,  and  I  think  she  too 
enjoyed  it.  When  I  look  at  her,  it  seems  a 
charming  thing  to  grow  old ;  the  autumnal 
brightness  is  different  from  the  loveliness  of 
spring,  but  almost  more  attractive.  Why 
should  not  our  whole  life  be  the  going  from 
one  glory  to  another,  and  the  last  change, 
from  the  terrestrial  to  the  celestial,  the 
crowning  glory  of  all?  With  Aunt  Katha- 
rine it  will  surely  be  so,  for  she  has  lived 
near  to  God  and  heaven,  and  rauch  of  the 
radiance  of  heaven  is  already  shining  round 
her.  With  her,  life  is  almost  gone,  with 
Baby  Bess,  all  to  come.  May  it  prove  pure 
and  religious,  whatever  else  it  may  be ! 
6 


62  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

I  had  many  nice,  strengthening  talks  with 
Aunt  Katharine ;  she  has  known  severe  tri- 
als ;  and  out  of  them  all  has  come  this  loving, 
sweet-hearted  woman  of  sixty-three.  Why 
need  I  fear  to  grow  old,  or  to  have  Baby 
grow  up  ?  If  there  is  sin  in  the  world,  there 
is  victory  over  sin,  and  always  One  to  save 
those  who  believe  in  Him  from  sin  and  its 
consequences;  so  let  me  trust  and  take 
courage,  quieting  all  my  fears. 

I  feel  that  I  have  gained  a  most  valuable 
friend  in  Aunt  Katharine,  almost  a  mother ; 
she  is  so  tender  and  sympathetic,  as  well  as 
wise  and  heavenly-minded.  I  like  religious 
conversation  when  it  is  spontaneous,  coming 
from  a  heart  that  is  fuller  of  spiritual  emo- 
tion than  any  other.  I  detest  cant ;  but  is  it 
not  going  to  the  opposite  extreme  to  never 
speak  of  Christ  and  heaven?  I  do  not  hesi- 
tate to  talk  about  Bessie  and  my  love  for 
her,  for  fear  somebody  should  think  I  am 
hypocritical,  and  pretending  to  more  feeling 
than  I  really  have;  nehher  do  I  whine  when 
I  talk  about  her — why  should  I?  And  why 


CUR    TWO  LIVES.  63 

should  I  whine  when  I  speak  of  Christ  and 
his  love?  When  our  hearts  are  brimming 
over  with  love  and  grateful  joy,  the  words 
flow  out  spontaneously  and  naturally. 

If  we  were  going  to  Europe  in  a  few 
weeks,  and  were  busy  with  our  preparations, 
would  it  not  be  unnatural  never  to  speak  of 
it  to  our  dearest  friends—  of  how  we  were  to 
go,  and  what  we  expected  to  see  and  do 
there?  Just  so  unnatural,  it  seems  to  me, 
is  it  to  live  in  close  intimacy  with  friends, 
and  never  once  exchange  a  word  in  regard 
to  that  land  toward  which  we  are  all  so 
rapidly  hastening ;  why  in  this,  as  in  other 
things,  should  not  the  mouth  speak  out  of 
the  abundance  of  the  heart? 

I  know  there  are  great  differences  of  tem- 
perament, as  well  as  of  education  and  habit; 
so  that  with  some  silence  is  the  natural  in- 
stinct, as  utterance  is  with  others ;  and  we 
should  all  be  spontaneous  and  natural ;  and 
above  all,  charitable;  the  silent  not  de- 
nouncing those  who  talk,  nor  the  talkers 
those  who  keep  silence. 


64  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

When  religious  feeling  seeks  expression 
and  finds  it  naturally,  it  certainly  adds  great- 
ly to  the  richness  and  joy  of  our  communion 
with  friends  on  earth.  But  there  is  some- 
thing painful  in  the  apparently  flippant, 
irreverent  manner  in  which  a  soul's  most 
sacred  feelings  are  sometimes  laid  bare  be- 
fore the  public ;  such,  surely,  can  never  be 
the  fitting  or  natural  expression  of  a  deeply 
religious  soul ;  still,  I  would  be  slow  to  crit- 
icize any  sincere  utterance ;  for  sincerity  is 
the  great  thing  in  the  sight  of  God. 

I  believe  my  besetting  sin  is  uncharitably 
judging  others.  I  wish  I  could  get  more 
of  Aunt  Katharine's  beautiful  spirit  of  char- 
ity into  my  soul — the  very  charity  of  the 
Gospel  that  not  only  speaketh,  but  thinketh 
no  evil.  She  sees  the  good  in  everybody, 
and  when  forced  to  look  at  the  evil,  it  evi~ 
dently  pains  her  pure  soul.  But  it  is  hard 
to  cure  one's  besetting  sin ;  when  you  con, 
gratulate  yourself  on  having  pretty  well 
subdued  it,  there  it  is,  popping  up  its  head, 
just  as  alert  and  vigorous  as  ever!  Well, 


QUA    TWO  LIVES.  65 

perhaps  if  I  live  thirty-five-years  longer, 
and  have  as  many  trials  as  Aunt  Katharine, 
.may  attain  to  a  little  of  her  sweetness. 

Must  it  come  through  trial — is  suffering 
the  only  way  in  which  holiness  can  be 
reached?  I  so  shrink  from  suffering!  How 
could  I  bear  to  lose  all  I  love  best,  as  she 
has,  and  be  left  alone  in  the  world  without 
husband  or  child?  But  how  foolish  I  am 
to  be  thinking  of  evils  that  will  probably 
never  come !  Let  me  enjoy  the  sunshine 
while  it  lasts,  as  Graham  says,  and  trust  for 
the  future. 

Mary  Sterling,  who  is  my  chief  young 
lady  friend,  is  a  great  comfort  to  me.  She 
is  younger  than  I,  but  she  likes  the  same 
people  and  the  same  books  I  do,  and  to  talk 
about  the  same  things.  Graham  is  compel- 
led  to  be  away  from  home  a  good  deal  at- 
tending court,  and  she  runs  in  and  spends 
the  long  evenings  with  me,  and  we  some- 
times read  aloud  and  sometimes  have  long 
talks — heart-talks,  that  do  a  body  good. 

She  and  Graham  have  been  reading  Ger- 


66  OUR   TWO  LIVES. 

man  together  whenever  he  finds  leisure.  I 
have  not  the  least  fancy  for  languages ;  the 
most  I  can  do  is  to  speak  my  own  decently  ; 
but  Graham  is  a  good  German  scholar  and 
thoroughly  enjoys  these  readings.  It  is 
charming  to  see  Mary's  delight  in  both  Ger- 
man and  Graham — her  two  enthusiasms,  I 
call  them.  She  looks  up  to  him  as  if  he  were 
the  very  Delphian  oracle;  and  when  he 
reads  some  fine  passage,  her  eye  kindles  and 
her  whole  face  becomes  radiant ; — a  sweet, 
lovely  face  it  is,  beautiful  in  the  best  sense, 
mirroring  every  feeling  of  her  soul — just  the 
face  I  like  to  sit  and  watch.  Dear  girl !  we 
both  admire  and  love  her ;  and  she  says  our 
love  is  a  great  blessing  to  her,  for  she  has 
few  intimate  friends.  She  is  reserved,  ex- 
cept to  those  she  loves,  and  most  people 
consider  her  cold  and  haughty,  but  we  find 
her  frank  and  very  loving. 


It  was  curious  that,  just  after  writing  that, 


OUR    TH'O  LIVES,  fy 

I  should  have  been  made  terribly  indignant 
by  Mrs. — no,  I  won't  put  her  name  on  paper, 
but  call  her  Mrs.  Gossip.  She  had  made  a 
fearfully  long  call,  and  had  at  last  got  up  to 
go,  when  she  said,  in  a  most  confidential 
whisper, — 

"  I  hear  Mary  Sterling  is  at  your  house 
a  good  deal,  Mrs.  Kingston." 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  wondering  what  was 
in  the  wind. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Kingston,  I  don't  know  as  I 
ought  to  say  anything ;  but  people  will  talk, 
you  know,  and  Mrs.  Jones  thought  you  real- 
ly ought  to  know  it — folks  do  say  she's  very 
fond  of  your  husband  ;  and  such  a  pretty 
girl,  you  know!" 

I  don't  know  what  I  said  exactly,  but 
something  that  sent  her  out  of  the  house  in 
quick  metre,  and  angry,  too,  I  "dare  say. 
What  does  the  woman  mean?  Does  she 
suppose  I  am  such  a  mean,  jealous  old  thing 
that  I  don't  want  my  husband  to  enjoy  a 
pretty  younfr  girl  as  well  as  I  do  ?  Thank 
goodness,  I'm  not,  and  that  I  have  a  hus- 


68  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

band  I  can  trust  without  one  misgiving,  even 
as  he  trusts  me !  Mary  was  at  that  moment 
in  the  library  reading  with  him  ;  and  when  I 
went  in,  I  looked  into  her  true  hazel  eyes 
with  a  new  feeling  of  admiration,  and  kissed 
her  good-bye  more  tenderly  that  night  than 
I  ever  had  in  my  life  before. 

The  next  time  I  met  Mrs.  Gossip  was  at 
the  sewing-society,  and  I  took  a  wicked 
pleasure  in  saying  in  her  hearing  that  "  Mr. 
Kingston  could  not  come ;  it  was  his  even- 
ing for  reading  with  Miss  Sterling."  How 
it  will  set  her  tongue  running !  I  suppose  I 
ought  not  to  have  said  it,  but  how  could  I 
help  it  ?  I  love  Mary  Sterling  dearly,  and 
Graham  loves  her,  and  she  loves  us  both, 
and  I  pity  people  who  can  only  think  low 
thoughts ! 

And  Mfs.  Gossip  talks  about  women's 
rights,  and  the  injustice  done  them,  and  all 
that.  Yes,  women  should  have  their  rights, 
social  and  political,  if  anybody  can  find  out 
what  they  are ;  but,  above  all  things,  they 
should  lift  themselves  out  of  the  slough  of 


OUR   TWO  LIVES.  $g 

malignant  gossip;  above  their  petty  aims 
and  low,  mean  lives;  thus  emancipating 
themselves  from  their  worst  degradation  ;— 
an  emancipation  to  be  achieved  by  them- 
selves, and  not  by  legislation  or  extraneous 
aid. 

Mary  Sterling  is  so  far  above  all  this! 
She  fought  her  w-ay  up  to  a  fine  education 
through  many  difficulties ;  and  her  love  of 
knowledge,  for  its  own  sake,  is  wonderful. 
I  look  up  to  her  as  my  superior  in  most 
things,  and  rejoice  to  do  so ;  thankful  that 
the  beautiful  gifts  denied  to  me  have  been 
granted  to  others.  Yes,  I  will  love  her,  and 
admire  all  that  is  good  and  noble  in  her,  in 
spite  of  all  the  Mrs.  Gossips  in  the  world  ! 

Graham  and  I  had  a  good  laugh  when  I 
told  him  what  I  said  at  the  sewing-society. 
"  I'm  afraid  it  will  take  poor  Mrs.  Gossip's 
breath  quite  away,"  I  said. 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  a  good  thing  if  it 
did,"  answered  my  spouse ;  the  severest 
thing  I  ever  heard  him  say. 

"  A  vast  deal  of  misery  grows  out  of  such 


70  OUR   TWO  LIVES. 

abominable  gossip,"  he  added  ;  "  out  of  petty 
jealousies  and  concealments,  too.  Of  course, 
there  may  be  danger  in  a  familiar  inter- 
course between  married  men  and  young 
women,  where  both  are  not  high  principled 
and  right-minded  ;  men  and  women  who 
are  not  pure,  are  not  safe  anywhere ;  but  I 
think  some  women  alienate  their  husbands 
by  their  want  of  confidence,  and  by  taking 
it  for  granted  that  something  is  wrong  if  a 
young  lady  comes  into  the  house.  Trust  is 
the  basis  of  all  true  love,  and  when  one  is 
lost  the  other  is  pretty  sure  to  follow." 

"  But  in  a  marriage  without  true  love,  a 
wife  may  well  be  anxious,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  but  then  everything 
is  wrong  from  beginning  to  end." 

Are  there  many  such  happy  marriages  as 
mine?  I  ask  myself  often.  I  suppose  all  old 
married  fogies  hug  themselves  in  the  same 
dear  delusion;  but  in  my  case  it  is  no  delu- 
sion ;  we  thoroughly  confide  in  and  respect 
each  other,  and  this  helps  us  to  overlook  a 
great  deal,  and  be  patient  with  one  another's 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  ji 

faults.  And  my  husband's  love  is  of  that 
kind  which  honors* and  elevates  any  woman, 
if  I  say  it,  who  ought  not.  Marriage,  where 
there  is  genuine  love  and  Christian  princi- 
ple, must  elevate  and  ennoble ;  but  woe  to 
that  woman  or  that  man  who  mistakes  a 
mere  fancy,  having  no  basis  in  real  respect 
and  honor,  for  genuine  love  ;  when  his  or 
her  eyes  are  opened,  dislike  and  contempt 
will  too  surely  follow.  I  can  never  be  thank- 
ful enough,  that  in  my  youthful  impulses  I 
was  saved  from  that  fatal  mistake  ; — a  most 
wretched  woman  I  should  have  been,  had  I 
waked  from  a  fond  delusion  to  find  my  hus- 
band what  some  men  are  I 


CHAPTER  V. 

SNOW  is  on  the  ground  now,  and 
Christmas  has  just  gone  —  such  a 
different  day  from  last  year's !  No  lit- 
tle stocking  hanging  in  the  corner;  nc 
s^hout  of  childish  glee  ringing  through 
the  house,  but  silence  and  tears  instead. 
For  God  has  taken  my  baby — my  precious 
one,  my  queen,  my  heart's  delight,  my 
darling !  I  have  no  baby  now :  what  a 
great  ache  comes  when  I  think  of  it ;  and 
when  do  I  forget  it  ?  My  eyes  are  a  foun- 
tain of  tears ;  yet  I  loved  early  to  think  of 
her,  and  of  all  she  was ;  yes,  and  of  all  she 
is,  too. 

Her  illness  came  suddenly — only  a  week 
after  Aunt  Katharine  left  us,  when  she 
seemed  pe.-fectly  healthy  and  strong :  it  was 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  73 

diphtheria,  that  mysterious  disease  which 
seizes  its  victim  so  savagely,  strangling  the 
life  out  in  an  instant.  She  had  played  about 
the  house  all  day,  and  flew  to  the  door  as 
usual  when  her  father  came  home  at  tea- 
time  ;  and  before  morning  she  was  suffering 
terribly,  and  in  forty-eight  hours  was  gone ! 
It  is  pleasant  now  to  remember  that  last 
evening — the  undressing  and  putting  her 
into  her  little  crib.  How  gleeful  she  was, 
and  how  full  of  funny  little  antics,  running 
about  the  room  in  her  night-gown,  bobbing 
little  courtesies  to  the  chairs,  with  her  bright 
eyes  full  of  mischief,  seeking  by  all  kinds 
of  devices  to  delay  being  put  to  bed.  Ah  ! 
had  we  only  known  it  was  the  last  time  our 
darling  would  ever  have  one  of  her  wild 
little  frolics,  how  reluctant  we  should  have 
been  to  shorten  it !  But  I  finally  quieted 
her,  and  she  came  and  knelt  down  at  my 
knee,  putting  her  dear  little  head  in  my  lap 
as  usual,  and  saying  her  little  prayer,  add- 
ing to  the  few  lines,  "  Bless  dear  papa  and 
mamma" — putting  in  of  her  own  head — - 
7 


74  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

"  and  love  them  dearly — and  make  me  a  dood 
little  girl,  for  Jesus'  sake,  Amen." 

Those  precious,  bird-like  tones — I  think 
they  will  always  linger  in  my  ear.  She 
will  never  talk  plainly,  now ;  never  in  our 
earthly  speech.  I  have  had  my  wish — my 
darling  will  never  outgrow  her  babyhood — 
never  be  but  three  years  and  one  month 
old! 

I  was  not  waked  that  night  till  about  two 
o'clock ;  then  she  cried  out,  "  Mam-ma, 
mam-ma,"  in  a  shrill,  unnatural  voice,  and 
seemed  to  be  in  great  pain,  but  I  could  not 
find  out  where.  "  Baby  sick — baby  sick  all 
over,"  was  all  she  could  tell.  After  trying 
some  simple  remedies  without  effect,  Gra- 
ham went  for  the  doctor,  who  at  first  spoke 
lightly  of  her  illness;  but,  in  a  few  hours, 
she  was  very  sick  and  terribly  distressed. 
I  dare  not  think  much  about  that  day  and 
the  following  night ;  it  was  all  hard  to  bear ; 
and  at  last  her  sufferings  were  so  intense,  I 
was  willing  to  see  her  breathe  her  last — my 
little  cherished  one,  my  lamb,  my  darling ! 


OUR    TWO  LIVES. 


75 


I  feared  then  I  should  never  be  able  to 
think  of  her  without  that  agonized  look, 
but  her  old  bright  face  has  come  back  to 
me  now  in  all  its  sweetness,  and  I  seem  to 
hear  her  dancing  step  and  her  ringing 
laugh  about  the  house ;  I  am  so  glad  of  this, 
for  it  would  have  been  dreadful  to  be  al- 
ways haunted  by  that  poor,  pinched,  suffer- 
ing little  face. 

I  was  with  her  every  moment,  holding 
her  in  my  arms  a  good  deal  of  the  time,  as 
she  seemed  quieter  there;  and  her  last 
words  were,  "  'Yes,  mam-ma,"  with  a  closer 
snugging  down  to  my  heart.  She  lived 
some  hours  after,  but  was  unconscious  and 
never  spoke  again. 

When  all  was  over,  I  bathed  the  dear  lit 
tie  face  and  body  with  my  own  hands,  put- 
ting on  one  of  her  white  dresses  with  its 
pretty  embroidered  waist,  tying  the  little 
strings  with  a  fearful  choking  at  my  throat ; 
but  I  could  not  have  let  anyone  else  do  it—- 
the last  that  could  be  done  for  my  baby  ' 
We  laid  beautiful  flowers  about  her,  anr1 


76  OUR   TWO  LIVES. 

she  never  looked  lovelier  than  when  lying 
in  the  little  open  casket ;  only  so  cold  and 
still. 

Graham  closed  the  casket  with  his  own 
hands,  and  carried  her  to  the  carriage  in 
which  we  rode,  lifting  her  out  at  the  Ceme- 
tery and  laying  her  in  the  grave.  We  could 
not  bear  that  strange  hands  should  do  any- 
thing for  our  darling ;  she  was  so  little  and 
timid,  and  clung  so  to  us !  I  kept  quite  calm 
through  all  this ;  much  calmer  than  Graham, 
who  broke  down  completely  more  than  once. 
I  had  a  sweet  sense  of  having  laid  my  little 
lamb  on  the  bosom  of  Jesus,  my  darling  and 
his  darling,  which  sustained  me.  But  I 
broke  down  afterwards,  and  was  in  bed  a 
fortnight,  too  weak  to  speak  or  even  think. 
Aunt  Katharine  came  to  us  then — dear 
Aunt  Katharine,  with  her  quiet,  old-fashion- 
ed ways,  and  her  warm,  young  heart — what 
a  blessing  she  was !  It  was  pleasant  to 
yield  myself  to  her  nursing  and  take  no 
thought  for  anything.  I  slept  most  of  the 
time  for  two  weeks ;  but  the  waking  must 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  77 

come,  and  it  was  terrible,  with  that  strange 
sense  of  something  gone  out  of  my  house 
and  heart.  I  could  gladly  have  yielded  to 
the  listlessness  and  made  no  effort,  but  I 
knew  I  ought  to  rouse  myself,  and  come 
back  to  life  and  its  cares ;  and  when  I  shook 
off  the  lethargy  and  sat  up  again  and  was 
dressed,  Graham's  pleased,  happy  look  re- 
paid me  for  the  effort. 

"  This  is  like  old  times,"  he  said  ;  and 
then  we  both  burst  into  tears,  and  felt  how 
different  it  was  and  always  would  be.  But 
with  his  true  heart  to  lean  on,  I  could  not 
repine.  I  had  never  clung  to  him  as  I  did 
then ;  as  I  do  now ;  my  true-hearted,  noble 
husband,  who  never  fails  me. 

Seven  weeks  have  gone,  and  I  am  getting 
accustomed  to  living  without  my  baby; 
though,  if  I  see  one  of  her  playthings,  or  a 
little  worn  shoe  with  the  prints  of  her  ros_y 
toes  in  it,  the  agony  all  comes  back. 

Yet  I  have  not  suffered  so  keenly  as  I  ex- 
pected. It  was  well  I  had  that  struggle 
with  myself  months  ago,  and  so  fully  gave 
7* 


78  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

her  up  to  Him  ;  for,  with  all  my  tears  and 
the  aching,  very  sharp  sometimes,  no  pain 
has  been  like  that  when  I  said,  "  I  cannot 
give  her  up !"  Under  the  billows  of  sor- 
row, there  has  been,  deep  down  in  my 
heart,  a  blessed  peace  ;  and,  though  my  heart 
was  well-nigh  breaking,  I  could  say,  "  She 
is  Thine,  Lord  ;  Thou  canst  not  harm  her : 
Thy  will  be  done."  When  she  was  first 
taken  ill,  I  prayed  earnestly  night  and  day 
that  she  might  be  spared.  But  a  little  be- 
fore her  death,  I  had  such  a  consciousness 
of  Christ's  presence  that  it  was  almost  like  a 
vision  of  Him  standing  by  me  ;  and,  looking 
at  me  very  tenderly,  he  seemed  to  ask  in  a 
pleading  voice,  "  Will  you  not  let  me  take 
the  baby — can  you  not  trust  me,  even  with 
her?"  Could  I  say,  "  No,  Lord  "? 

I  never  think  of  her  as  alone,  but  always, 
as  with  Him,  softly  tended  by  the  loving 
angels.  But  then  I  am  so  lonely — so  lone- 
ly !  I  hope  I  have  not  rebelled,  but  waves 
of  desolation  will  at  times  sweep*  over  me  ; 
though,  as  I  have  said,  underneath  them  all 


OUR    TWO   LIVES. 


79 


is  peace.  I  know  I  shall  be  happy  again, 
not  exactly  in  the  old  way,  but  quietly  and 
truly  happy  ;  even  now  I  can  at  times 
rejoice  that  my  darling  is  never  to  know 
pain  or  sorrow  again;  her  whole  life  was 
crowded  brimming  full  of  brightness  and 
sunshine  till  those  last  two  days.  Only  two 
days  of  sorrow  in  her  whole  eternity  !  Hap- 
py Bessie,  and  selfish  mother  who  would 
have  kept  you  back  from  heavenly  bliss ! 

I  never  knew  till  now  what  it  must  have 
cost  the  Shunamite  mother  to  say,  "  It  is 
well  with  the  child."  It  was  so  much  harder 
for  her,  for  Jesus  had  not  then  taken  little 
children  into  his  arms  and  blessed  them. 

Everybody  has  been  kind  ;  some  so  un- 
expectedly so  my  heart  was  greatly  touch- 
ed. Poor  Katy  O'Brien,  who  lived  with  me 
the  two  first  years  of  Bessie's  life,  walked 
three  miles  to  get  some  sweet  peas  that 
were  growing  in  a  box  at  a  friend's  house, 
because  Bess  was  so  fond  of  them.  Her 
pitying  look,  as  she  said, — 

"  Please,  ma'am,  and   would  ye  just   be 


80  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

afther  puttin'  'em  in  her  own  svvate  little 
hand  ?"  went  to  my  heart.  They  were  put 
there,  and  "  fragranted"  the  room. 

Miss  Patty  Train,  too,  came,  with  her 
voice  all  in  a  quiver, — 

"  I  can't  say  a  word — I  can't !"  she  cried, 
and  sank  down  into  a  chair,  sobbing  like  a 
baby. 

There  was  genuine  sympathy  in  her  poor 
withered-up  heart  that  had  never  had  a 
baby  to  cry  for,  and  I  valued  it;  but  before 
she  went  away  she  worried  me  dreadfully 
by  asking  all  sorts  of  questions  that  pierced 
the  raw  spot  cruelly ; — she  did  not  mean  to 
hurt  me,  and  how  could  she  know  she  did  ? 
I  am  trying  to  bear  patiently  ail  true  at- 
tempts at  consolation,  however  painful.  I 
know  how  very  hard  it  is  to  express  sympa- 
thy in  bereavement  without  paining,  we 
are  so  differently  constituted  ;  and  at  such 
times  the  heart  is  so  very  tender  and 
shrinking. 

Mrs.  Stone  was  out  of  town  when  Bessie 
left  us,  but  she  came  to  see  me  directly  after 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  gi 

ner  return.  How  I  dreaded  to  see  her  very 
face  and  hear  her  dismal  tones !  But  I 
think  on  the  whole  she  did  me  good ;  she 
made  me  speak  cheerfully  by  contrast,  and 
she  made  me  think  of  the  dust  and  cob- 
webs, which  was  good  for  me.  I  know  she 
thought  I  hadn't  a  particle  of  feeling,  but  I 
could  not  talk  of  my  sorrow  to  her  who 
never  had,  nor  lost  a  child.  Poor  woman  ! 
can  that  be  the  reason,  I  wonder,  that  she 
seems  so  unsympathetic  and  unfeeling? 
She  stayed  to  tea  and  praised  my  milk-toast 
and  cookies ;  they  were  nice,  and  how  could 
she  know  how  my  heart  ached  when  I  roll- 
ed them  out,  because  there  was  no  need  to 
make  "  tookey  mans"  any  more  ! 

Christmas  was  a  hard  day,  especially  in 
the  morning  ;  it  was  impossible  not  to  recal 
the  bewilderment  and  delight  of  our  darling 
last  year,  and  her  pretty  prattle  about 
"  Santa  Caws,"  and  to  weep  a  little  over  the 
sad  silence  that  now  fills  the  house.  It 
came  on  Sunday,  and  we  went  to  churcn; 
the  fine  music  and  the  finer  sermon  lifted 


82  ^   OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

us  out  ot  our  selfish  regret,  till  we  could 
heartily  respond  to  the  anthems  of  praise 
and  thanksgiving  that  went  up  all  over 
Christendom,  "that  unto  us  is  born  a  Sa- 
viour, which  is  Christ  the  Lord."  Who,  in- 
deed, should  heartily  rejoice  in  His  birth  IT 
not  those  whose  best  beloved  ones  have 
been  taken  to  be  with  him  in  his  risen 
glory  ? 

Aunt  Katharine  kept  Christmas  with  us ; 
we  trimmed  the  house  with  lovely  ever- 
green wreaths  as  usual,  and  gave  our  gifts 
to  those  poorer  than  ourselves  ;  though, 
when  I  carried  some  gifts  to  Tim  MaJoney's, 
I  confess,  with  her  six  children,  that  mother 
seemed  the  rich  and  I  the  poor  one.  My 
heart  is  very  tender  now  towards  all  little 
children,  though  it  always  gives  me  a  pang 
to  see  a  little  girl  of  Bessie's  age.  I  am  so 
glad  Aunt  Katharine  knew  and  loved  our 
darling.  Last  night  she  said  to  Graham, — 

"  I  have  been  thinking  how  your  mother 
will  enjoy  Bessie  in  heaven ;  she  was  so 
passionately  fond  of  little  children." 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  gj 

"  And  you  think  she  loves  them  still  ?"  I 
said. 

"  With  Christ  and  like  Christ,  and  not  love 
little  children  !  that  can  never  be,"  she  said, 
almost  reprovingly. 

"  Do  you  suppose  little  children  still  re- 
main little  children,  then?"  said  Graham. 

That  question  had  continually  risen  in  my 
mind,  but  I  did  not  reason  much  upon  it, 
for  I  did  not  want  to  be  argued  out  of  my 
belief  that  they  do.  Longfellow's  lines  keep 
haunting  me, — 

"  Not  as  a  child  shall  we  again  behold  her; 

For  when  with  rapture  wild, 
In  our  embraces  we  again  enfold  her, 
She  will  not  be  a  child, 

"But  a  fair  maiden  in  her  Father's  mansion, 

Clothed  with  celestial  grace, 
And  beautiful  with  all  the  soul's  expansion 
Shall  we  behold  her  face." 

And  then  that  still  more  cruel  line, — 

v  Where  she  no  longer  needs  our  poor  protection, 


84  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

no  longer  needs  to  be  taken  up  and  rocked 
watched  over  and  tended  ;  a  bitter  truth,  if 
it  be  one,  to  a  mother  whose  baby  has  just 
been  taken  out  of  her  arms.  I  listened  to 
hear  what  Aunt  Katharine  would  say ;  she 
said  nothing,  except, — 

"  I  don't  know  ;  we  have  not  been  told." 

"  But  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven," 
I  said. 

"  By  that  may  be  meant  that  only  such  as 
are  of  a  child-like  spirit,  as  trustful  and 
teachable  as  little  children,  are  to  enter  that 
kingdom  of  heaven,"  said  Graham. 

"  But  is  not  the  longing  of  every  mother's 
heart  a  prophecy  ?"  I  asked — "  an  instinct  too 
strong  for  God  to  disappoint?  And  what 
a  cheerless  heaven  it  would  be  without  any 
children !" 

"  But  children  are  constantly  going 
there,"  he  said,  "  so  there  may  be  no  lack 
of  children,  even  if  our  own  have  grown." 

"  And  heaven  full  -  of  weeping  Rachels 
who  will  not  be  comforted,  because  their 
children  are  not !  Other  people's  children 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  85 

would  never  satisfy  me,  nor  any  other 
mother!"  I  said. 

I  spoke  sharply,  and  was  sorry  for  it  in  a 
moment ;  and  crept  nearer  to  my  husband, 
laying  my  head  on  his  shoulder,  and  beg- 
ging him  to  be  patient  with  his  poor  weak 
wife. 

It  is  easy  to  be  selfish  in  our  griefs,  and  I 
am  sure  I  have  been.  Graham  has  felt  our 
loss  just  as  keenly  as  I,  but  he  has  been  far 
more  considerate  of  others.  There  is  al- 
ways a  look  of  pain  in  his  face  when  he 
comes  home  at  night  and  finds  no  little  Bes- 
sie dancing  down  the  walk  to  meet  him — no 
joyful  shout  of  welcome ;  but  in  a  moment 
he  smiles,  and  is  as  cheery  as  ever,  and  far 
more  tender;  and  I  want  to  be  made  less 
selfish  and  every  way  better  by  this  sore 
affliction,  so  that  my  darling  may  not  have 
died  in  vain. 

That  evening  Deacon  Jessup  came  in — 
good  old  homely  Deacon  Jessup ; — a  child- 
less man  who  has  buried  five  young  chil- 
dren. I  have  often  seen  the  row  of  little 


86  OUR    TWO  LIVES 

graves  in  the  cemetery,  and  thought  what 
heart-aches  he  and  his  wife  must  have  had. 
He  took  my  hand,  pressing  it  till  it  ached  ; 
but  it  was  a  kindly  grasp,  ?nd  there  were 
tears  in  his  eyes  when  he  saic, — 

"  God's  ways  are  not  as  our  ways,  Miss 
Kingston." 

Now  Mrs.  Stone  had  said  the  very  same 
words ;  and  it  sounded  as  if  she  thought  she 
must  say  something  out  of  the  Bible,  be- 
cause there  had  been  a  death  in  the  house ; 
but  in  the  good  deacon's  mouth  they  sound- 
ed very  differently.  Bessie  had  been  very 
fond  of  the  good  old  man ;  and  his  hearty 
"  Good  morning,  my  little  lady,"  was  sure 
to  bring  out  a  "  Dood  morning,  Misser  Jes- 
sy," in  response,  and  the  very  last  time  she 
went  into  the  street,  she  ran  away  from  me 
to  meet  him,  crying  out  merrily,  "  Toss  me 
up,  Misser  Jessy,  toss  me  up,  up,  way  up  to 
the  sky  !"  and  he  came  into  the  yard  and 
jumped  her  up  and  do\vn  as  high  as  his 
long  arms  cou'd  reach,  to  her  great  delight ; 
she  screamino  and  telling  him,  with  a  com- 


OUR   TWO  LIVES.  g; 

ical  twist  of  her  little  head,  "  I'm  Mother 
Bunch,  I  am,"  and  we  all  laughed  heartily, 
and  the  deacon  said, — 
"  Children  are  curis  little  critturs." 
So  I  was  drawn  to  him,  and  when  he  said, 
"God's  ways  are  not  as  our  ways,"  adding, 
"  but  they  are  good  ways,  Miss  Kingston," 
I  knew  how  hard  it  must  be  for  him  to  say 
that  from  his  heart,  with  those  five  little 
children  all  lying  under  the  snow.  But  a 
laughing  face  with  tossing  curls  rose  up  so 
vividly  before  me,  I  could  not  speak  for  an 
instant;  and  he  saw  it,  and  sat  down  by  my 
husband,  and  talked  about  the  weather. 
After  a  while  Graham  propounded  to  him 
the  same  question  we  had  been  discussing, 
Whether  those  who  died  in  infancy  would 
still  remain  little  children  in  heaven  ? 

"  Now,  Squire,  that's  a  thing  I've  thought 
about  a  great  deal,  year  in  and  year  out,  as 
I  may  say,"  he  answered,  with  a  little  quiver 
in  his  voice,  "for  I've  a  good  many  little 
ones  there,  you  know,  and  if  the}7  are  still 
little  I  should  like  to  know  it.  I  should  like 


88  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

to  have  'em  kept  little,  if  it's  for  the  best 
But  then  I've  sometimes  thought  maybe 
'twouldn't  be  quite  fair  to  them  to  keep  'em, 
from  growing  any." 

"  But  little  children  are  so  happy,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,  in  their  little  way,  so  they  be ;  but 
you  see  it's  the  natur'  of  things  to  grow  and 
keep  a  growin' ;  and  I  don't  suppose  a  little 
child's  sperrit  could  take  in  so  much  heav- 
enly blessedness  as  a  bigger  one;  'twould 
be  pleasanter  for  you  and  me,  Miss  King- 
ston, to  find  'em  when  we  get  there  lookin' 
jest  as  they  did  when  we  was  a  trottin'  on 
'em  on  our  knees;  but  mightn't  it  be  sort 
of  selfish  to  have  'em  kept  back  just  for 
that?" 

Was  I  selfish  still,  thinking  of  my  own 
pleasure  instead  of  Baby's  good?  But  I 
said  nothing. 

"  Sometimes  I've  thought,"  continued  he, 
"that  ma'be,  just  10  please  us,  He'd  let  'em 
be  babies  till  we  got  to  'em  agin — 'twon't 
be  long,  you  know — and  so  let  us  have  the 
pleasure  of  seem'  'em  grow  up  under  our 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  89 

own  eye.  But  the  truth  is,  we  don't  know, 
but  dreadful  little  about  such  things,  be- 
cause He  hain't  told  us ;  but  then  I  don't 
worry  one  mite  about  it ; — He'll  fix  it  all 
right  —  yes,  exactly  right.  If  it's  best  to 
have  'em  stay  little  children  there,  they  will ; 
and  if  it  'taint,  they  won't.  There's  but  just 
one  thing  we  know  for  sartain,"  he  added, 
"that  they  are  His  lambs,  and  He's  the 
Good  Shepherd." 

"  And  that  is  enough !"  said  Graham, 
softly. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  softly  too,  silently  adding, 
to  myself,  "  neither  will  I  worry  ;  He'll  fix  it 
right ;  yes,  exactly  right." 

"  I  thought  a  good  deal  of  your  little  gal," 
he  said,  when  he  got  up  to  go,  "  'twas  hard 
for  you  to  give  her  up.  I  know  all  about 
it ;"  and  he  wiped  his  eyes  with  the  back 
of  his  hand ;  "  but,  then,  they'll  be  there  a 
waitin'  for  us,  Miss  Kingston,  and  we  shall 
find  it's  all  exactly  right." 

So  we  shall.  I  will  not  yield  to  selfish 
doubts ;  I  will  not  even  wish  t-./  keep  my 


90  OUR    TWO   LIVES. 

.child  from  growing  up  into  the  stature  of 
the  tallest  angel,  if  God  so  chooses. 

How  a  little  faith  clears  one's  vision !  I 
would  give  more  for  such  an  undoubting 
faith  as  Deacon  Jessup's,  than  for  all  the 
knowledge  in  the  world  without  it. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

RAHAM  has  read  aloud  to  me  a 
good  deal  these  winter  evenings; 
it  is  good  of  him  to  give  me  so  much 
time  when  he  is  so  pressed  by  business ; 
but  he  says  it  always  rests  and  refreshes 
nim  to  sit  down  with  me  in  this  quiet 
way.  I  hope  it  does ;  but  I  feel  sure  the 
real  reason  is  that  he  knows  how  sorely 
I  miss  Bessie  then. 

He  has  taken  up  some  of  the  old  English 
poets,  of  whom  I  knew  almost  nothing,  and 
I  have  quite  fallen  in  love  with  Herbert  and 
George  Withers;  their  heavenly  thoughts 
and  quaint,  musical  rhymes  fall  deliciously 
on  both  heart  and  ear.  Vaughan  is  another 
of  Graham's  favorites.  We  have  not  got  so 
very  far  beyond  these  men,  after  all  our 


92  OUR   TWO  LIVES. 

boasted  progress ;  nor  so  much  nearer  to 
God  and  heaven  !  Graham  first  learned  to 
relish  these  authors  when  he  was  in  college  ; 
and  Aunt  Katharine,  who  fairly  revels  in 
old  English  literature,  used  to  get  him  to 
read  aloud  to  her ;  it  was  a  good  thing  for 
him  to  acquire  a  taste  for  this  wholesome 
literature ;  and,  during  the  busy  years  that 
have  followed,  he  has  always  found  time  for 
general  reading ;  and  I  see  that  even  in  his 
office  library  a  good  many  miscellaneous 
authors  crop  out  from  among  the  musty  old 
law-books. 

A  bad  thing  this  in  Judge  Irwin's  eyes, 
who  shakes  his  head  when  he  sees  them, 
and  says, — 

"Law  is  a  jealous  mistress,  my  young 
friend;  and  he  who  would  win  her  favors, 
must  beware  how  .he  flirts  with  other 
charmers." 

He  always  will  call  Graham  young.  Well, 
at  seventy,  perhaps  a  man  of  thirty-five  does 
seem  youngish ;  and  I  do  suppose  Graham's 
chances  for  dying  a  Chief-Justice  on  the  Su- 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  93 

preme  Court  bench  are  not  so  goou  as  if  he 
never  opened  anything"  but  a  law  -  book  ; 
but  I  am  sure  he  is  a  better  husband  and  a 
happier  man.  It  keeps  him  from  being  one- 
sided; and  helps  him  to  take  broad,  com- 
prehensive views,  as  all  men  should. 

Now  and  then  we  have  one  of  Shake- 
speare's plays,  which  Graham  reads  ad- 
mirably ;  and,  among  other  things,  we  have 
read  this  winter  "  Emerson's  Essays."  Gra- 
nam  enjoys  Emerson  in  a  certain  way ;  he 
is  so  suggestive  of  new  thought,  and  so 
stimulates  and  rouses  him  intellectually; 
but  I  follow  his  mystical  flights  with  diffi- 
culty, and  feel  a  sad  sense  of  want  at  the 
end.  Graham  has  no  sympathy  with  some 
of  his  views,  and  acknowledges  he  does  not 
satisfy. 

"  But  he  leads  you  into  such  vast,  grand 
ranges  of  thought  and  speculation,"  he  says, 
"  and  quickens  all  your  faculties  into  such  a 
keen  activity." 

"  Yes,"  I  answer,  "  but  he  seems  always 
reaching  put  after  truth,  withput  finding  it." 


94  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

"  Well,  the  reaching  out  is  a  good  thing ; 
the  very  aspiration  is  expanding  and  en- 
nobling." 

"  But  painful,  too,"  I  said,  "  if  the  search 
is  to  be  always  baffled.  Does  our  Father 
mean  his  children  should  be  always  groping 
in  darkness,  among  mists  and  shadows?" 

"  No,"  said  Graham,  his  eye  kindling,  "  no, 
he  does  not !  Christ  has  come,  and  says,  '  1 
am  the  light  of  the  world,'  and  '  He  that  fol- 
loweth  me  shall  not  walk  in  darkness,  but 
shall  have  the  light  of  life.'  What  could  be 
more  positive  than  that?  No,  Annie,  much 
as  I  enjoy  that  style  of  authors,  in  a  certain 
way,  I  see  more  and  more,  as  I  read  them, 
how  Christ,  and  Christ  only,  sheds  light  on 
the  great  problems  of  life ;  without  Him 
they  are  all  unsolved,  and  such  speculations 
give  me  a  deeper  and  more  profound  rever 
ence  for  Him  and  His  words,  they  make 
me  see,  too,  how  necessary  it  was  that  God 
should  become  incarnate — '  God  manifest  in 
the  flesh' — that  we  might  get  some  clear 
and  just  conception  of  Him,  and  not  be  left 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  95 

forever  groping  about  in  doubt  as  to  what 
He  is  and  what  is  to  be  our  future  destiny 
Yes,  Mr.  Emerson  is  a  wonderful  man,  a 
splendid  thinker  and  soarer,  but  even  his 
soul  is  dark  till  the  true  Light  shines  into 
it !  Christ  says, '  I  am  the  way  ;'  and,  soar  as 
lofty  as  the  human  intellect  may,  if  it  find  not 
Him,  it  finds  not  the  way,  nor  the  Truth." 

"  Nor  the  Life,"  I  said,  softly. 

"  No,  most  emphatically  not  the  Life. 
'He  that  hath  the  Son,  hath  life;* and  he 
that  hath  not  the  Son,  hath  not  iife;'  and  He 
says,  '  I  am  the  bread  of  life ;  if  any  man 
shall  eat  of  this  bread,  he  shall  live  forever.' 
No,  there  is  no  true,  glorious,  blessed,  eter- 
nal life  where  Christ  is  not." 

"Yet  how  many  shut  out  this  life,"  I  said  ; 
"  how  many  wretched,  starving  souls  there 
are  in  the  world  who  are  longing  for  joy, 
and  yet  keep  looking  for  it  where  it  never 
can  be  found !" 

"  Yes,  this  is  the  saddest  of  all  sad  facts," 
said  Graham,  "  and  the  one  I  can  least  com- 
prehend." 


g&  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

Reading  that  compelled  thought,  has  been 
good  for  me  this  winter;  sentimental  fiction 
is  not  what  a  wounded  heart  that  needs 
bracing,  not  weakening,  requires ;  nothing 
tones  up  and  exhilarates  like  a  little  hard 
study.  "  Nothing  of  the  best  comes  with- 
out labor,"  as  Graham  says. 


We  talk  a  good  deal  about  heaven  in 
these  days;  how  can  we  help  it  when 
our  one  little  ewe-lamb  is  there,  instead  of 
in  our  bosoms.  We  wonder  what  heaven  is 
like,  what  Bessie  is  doing  there,  and  whether 
she  thinks  of  us  and  the  old  home  ?,  But  all 
our  speculations  do  not  carry  us  much  be- 
yond good  Deacon  Jessup's  conclusion,— 
"  He'll  fix  it  all  just  right." 

The  more  we  talk  about  it,  the  more  I  feel 
how  little  we  really  know  about  heaven ; 
that  is,  of  the  details  of  the  life  they  are  liv- 
ing there.  We  can  indulge  in  delightful 
theories,  but  they  are  only  theories.  I  won- 


OUR   TWO  LIVES.  97 

der  that  no  more  is  revealed.  Every  one 
who  has  lost  a  friend,  has  followed  him  into 
the  spirit  world  with  intense  longings  for 
more  knowledge  of  that  life  —  what  is  he 
doing?  what  is  he  thinking  of?  is  he  con- 
scious of  the  old  life,  conscious  of  us,  our 
love,  our  agony,  our  longings? 

We  besiege  the  heavens  with  our  impor- 
tunate cries,  but  how  silent  the  heavens  are  ! 
never  a  voice  comes  back ;  never  the  faint- 
est echo  to  still  our  longings.  The  beautiful 
blue  sky  is  radiant ;  the  air  breathes  round 
us  with  its  soft,  spirit-like  sighing  ;  the  birds 
fly  far  away  into  its  clear  depths,  but  from 
none  of  them  comes  a  word  or  a  sign  from 
our  lost  ones.  It  is  only  from  the  Bible 
that  we  know  even  so  much  as  that  there  is 
a  life  beyond.  "  I  am  the  resurrection  and 
the  life,"  —  "Because  T  live,  ye  shall  live 
also," — are  the  words  that  make  this  sure  ; 
but  the  Bible  gives  us  only  outlines  of  that 
future  state  —  grand  glorious  ones,  to  be 
sure,  but  still  only  outlines.  It  tells  us  of 
the  many  mansions,  but  not  how  they  are 
9 


^8  OUR   TWO  LIVES. 

furnished,  nor  how  the  occupants  are  em 
ployed.  It  speaks  of  the  glory  which  shal' 
be  revealed,  but  not  in  what  that  peculia' 
glory  consists.  John,  in  the  Revelation 
uses  the  most  glowing  imagery  to  convey 
to  us  impressions  of  the  sinlessness,  the  rest, 
the  brightness  and  beauty  of  heaven,  but 
none  of  the  details  for  which  our  hearts 
yearn  are  given.  I  am  struck  by  this  si- 
lence ;  I  wonder  why,  having  told  so  much, 
he  tells  no  more. 

I  talked  this  over  with  Graham.  "  God 
doesn't  seem  to  want  we  should  know  much 
about  heaven,"  I  said.  "  When  a  friend 
dies,  the  door  is  shut  between  us ;  he  liter- 
ally passes  within  the  veil,  and  we  see  and 
hear  nothing  more  of  him.  Why  is  this?" 

"  Perhaps  because  heavenly  things  cannot 
be  told.  You  can't  teach  a  five-year-old 
child  how  the  planets  move  in  their  orbits, 
nor  why  the  moon  changes  in  size  every 
night;  you  don't  try  to;  if  he  asks  you 
questions,  you  say,  *  Wait,  my  child  ;  by-and- 
bye,  when  you  are  able  to  understand  it. 


OUR   TWO  LIVES.  99 

you  shall  hear  all  about  it.'  It  sounds  very 
much  like  this  when  we  are  told,  '  Eye  hath 
not  seen,  nor  ear  heard,  neither  hath  it  en- 
tered into  the  heart  of  man  to  conceive 
what  God  hath  prepared  for  them  that  love 
him.'  For  it  doth  not  yet  appear  what  we 
shall  be.'  When  anybody  attempts  to  defi- 
nitely map  out  the  inconceivable  glory,  it 
seems  to  me  very  much  like  a  child's  calcu- 
lating eclipses  or  predicting  the  appear- 
ance of  a  comet.  All  spiritual  life  is  a  mys- 
tery, and  heaven  cannot  but  be  beyond  our 
grasp  while  we  are  in  the  flesh,  from  its 
very  nature." 

"  I  almost  hope  some  of  Swedenborg's 
theories  may  prove  true,"  I  said,  "  they  are 
such  beautiful  ones." 

"Very  beautiful;  but  I  imagine  all  who 
reach  heaven  will  find  something  even  far 
more  beautiful  and  glorious  than  these  has 
been  prepared,"  said  Graham.  "  I  am  glad 
it  is  Christ,  and  not  Swedenborg  or  any 
other  mortal  man,  who  is  to  prepare  the 
mansion,  '/go  to  prepare  a  mansion.'  is 


IOO  OUR   TWO  LIVES. 

a  very  delightful  assurance,  for  he  alone 
knows  what  a  human  soul  requires  to  per. 
feet  and  bless  it.  Human  planners  are  apt 
to  make  heaven  very  much  like  this  world 
over  again,  only  a  little  greener  and  fairer, 
and  fuller  of  sunshine  and  flowers." 

"  Well,  this  world  does  sometimes  seem 
lovely  and  good  enough  to  live  in  forever," 
I  said,  "  if  the  sin  were  only  gone — a  great 
if  that,  I  know." 

"  Some  have  a  theory  that  the  new  heav- 
ens and  earth  are  to  be  these  same  dear  old 
ones,  refitted  and  purged  of  all  that  mars  or 
defiles  them.  You  would  like  that,  Annie." 

"  Yes ;  it  is  a  pleasant  idea,"  I  said. 

"It  may  be  the  true  one;  we  can't  say, 
because  we  are  not  told ;  but  in  God's  great 
universe  there  may  be  places  still  more  at- 
tractive ;  I  think  there  probably  are ;  but 
we  need  not  trouble  ourselves  about  it ;  the 
sense  of  the  beautiful  which  God  has  given 
us,  will  doubtless  be  gratified  there  to  the 
full  by  Him  who  has  made  this  world  so 
fair.  The  locality  is  of  small  account :  our 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  IOI 

surroundings  will  no  doubt  be  adapted  to 
us :  and  what  we  are  to  be  there  is  the  main 
thing.  And  we  know  a  good  deal  about 
that;  we  are  to  be  made  spotlessly  clean 
and  white  ;  to  be  without  one  impure  de- 
sire ;  one  low,  mean,  selfish  thought ;  to  be 
filled  with  all  high  and  noble  aspirations ; 
with  all  truth  and  knowledge,  and  glowing 
with  perfect  love  —  with  Christ  and  -like 
Christ — ah !  that  will  indeed  be  a  heaven 
worthy  of  an  immortal  soul!" 

"  I  shall  be  satisfied  when  I  awake  in  Thy 
likeness,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,  no  human  desire  can  go  beyond 
that,  or  even  begin  to  conceive  of  it,"  said 
Graham  ;  "  and  if,  as  some  imagine,  the  spir- 
itual body  is  but  an  expression,  an  out- 
growth, as  it  were,  of  the  spirit,  how  very 
pure  and  lovely  it  must  be!  Paul  answers 
the  question,  '  How  are  the  dead  raised  up, 
and  with  what  body  do  they  come  ?'  by  say- 
ing, '  God  giveth  it  a  body  as  it  hath  pleased 
Him ;'  and  that  is  enough,  for  only  the  best 
possible  one  would  please  Him  •  he  adds. 


IO2  OUA    TWO  LIVES. 

'  and  to  every  seed  his  own  body ;'  that  is, 
I  suppose,  that  the  germ  of  life,  the  soul,  the 
immortal  part,  will  have  its  own  individual 
body ;  but  just  what  the  form  of  it  will  be, 
we  are  not  told,  nor  need  we  be ;  we  can 
safely  leave  all  that  with  Him  who  fashioned 
our  present  ones  so  wondrously." 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;"  I  said. 

"  I  think  more  ts  told  us  about  that  future 
state,  Annie,  than  you  think ;  the  texts  that 
speak  of  it,  when  we  examine  them  carefully, 
contain  more  meaning  than  they  seem  to  at 
the  first  glance ;  take,  for  instance,  this  one : 
'  For  it  doth  not  yet  appear  what  we  shall 
be;  but  we  know' — this  much  we  are  cer- 
tain of—'  that,  when  Christ  shall  appear,  we 
shall  be  like  Him.'  Now,  what  a  wealth  of 
meaning  lies  in  these  two  words ;  look  at 
them  —  think  of  them  — '  Like  Him:  What 
does  it  mean?  That  we  shall  be  filled  with 
all  truth,  for  one  thing;  for  He  is  truth. 
What  an  inspiring  idea ! — to  get  at  the  truth, 
the  pure  truth,  without  any  mixture  of  er- 
-or  •  and  to  be  true,  with  no  shams,  or  de- 


OUR    TWC   LIVES.  lc<3 

ceptions,  or  falsities  about  us — how  glori- 
ous ! — the  very  thought  of  it  is  like  taking 
draughts  of  fresh  air  into  the  soul !  Here, 
we  are  fettered  and  hemmed  in ;  there,  the 
realm  will  be  boundless,  and  our  power  of 
comprehension  forever  enlarging,  and  we 
shall  get — not  conjectures,  doubts,  theories, 
ingenious  and  brilliant  speculations  —  but 
verities — truth.  Then  we  shall  know  how 
much  or  how  little  absolute  truth  there  is  in 
the  perplexing  theories  our  scientific  men 
are  broaching  now.  Oh,  I  long  to  know  the 
truth  about  geology,  and  astronomy,  and  a 
thousand  other  things  !" 

"  You  don't  expect  to  study  such  things 
there !"  I  said. 

"  To  be  sure  I  do ;  why  not  ?" 

"  When  you  get  there,  perhaps  you  won't 
care  to  know  about  anything  but  God  and 
spiritual  truths." 

"How  can  we  thoroughly  understand 
God  while  ignorant  of  His  works  and  the 
laws  by  which  He  made  and  governs  them? 
I  can't  but  think  that  one  object  He  had  in 


I04  OUR    TWO  LIVES 

creating  such  myriads  of  wonderful  worlds 
was,  that  His  creatures,  through  them, 
might  learn  to  understand  Him  ;  and  I  think 
He  would  hardly  have  given  us  capacities 
for  such  investigations  to  nip  them  just  in 
the  bud,  and  when  we  are  stepping  out  of 
this  world  into  one  still  more  wonderful. 
Truth  is  the  food  of  the  soul,  and  knowledge 
lies  at  the  basis  of  all  truth." 

"  But  He  reveals  himself  so  much  more 
fully  in  our  own  souls,"  I  said. 

"  True,  but  the  two  do  not  conflict.  God 
can't  teach  one  thing  in  the  soul,  and  a  con- 
tradictory one  in  the  stars  and  rocks." 

"  But  knowledge  of  spiritual  truths  must 
surely  be  the  highest  kind  of  knowledge,"  I 
said. 

"Certainly,  and  the  best  kind;  but  all 
knowledge  is  good ;  and  the  material  and 
the  spiritual  so  run  into  and  influence  each 
other,  that  it  is  hard  to  separate  them  in  this 
life — perhaps  in  any  life.  This  world  alone, 
viewed  by  the  light  of  truth,  would  furnish 
material  for  study  for  an  indefinite  period; 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  IO5 

and  then  think  of  a  whoVe  universe  of  worlds, 
all  filled  with  manifestations  of  the  power, 
wisdom,  and  love  of  the  same  Creator  and 
Father,  waiting  to  be  understood  !  Surely 
eternity  will  be  none  too  long  to  learn  all 
there  is  to  know,  even  of  the  works  of 
this  great  Creator — their  Father  and  our 
Father !" 

"  Do  you  suppose  knowledge  will  come  to 
us, there, without  any  effort  of  ours?  or  shall 
we  have  to  work  for  it,  as  we  do  here  ?"  I 
asked. 

"  Oh  work  for  it,  I  hope !"  he  said ;  "  study 
is  too  pure  and  intense  a  pleasure  to  be 
given  up.  Besides,  it  is  not  God's  way  to 
pour  out  his  treasures  into  merely  passive 
recipients." 

"  Hard  study  isn't  such  intense  delight  to 
everybody,"  I  said  ;  "  it  tires  some  people 
dreadfully — your  poor  wife,  for  one.  1 
should  much  prefer  to  have  things  come 
to  me." 

"  I  doubt  it ;  your  mind  enjoys  stud}', 
only  your  body  gets  tired  ;  and  there,  active 


1O6  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

minds  won't  be  pent  up  in  poor,  weak  bod- 
ies— there  won't  be  any  getting  tired  there." 

"Oh,  how  nice  that  will  be1"  I  said; 
"  think  of  poor  Mary  Beebe,  who  has  never 
been  anything  but  tired  all  her  life.  Won't 
rest  be  the  thing  she  will  enjoy  most  ?" 

"  The  thing  she  will  have,  then,  probably. 
I  have  no  idea  we  shall  all  be  doing  precisely 
the  same  thing ;  variety,  infinite  variety,  is 
the  law  of  the  universe,  so  far  as  we  know, 
and  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  we  shall 
all  be  exactly  the  same  in  heaven  any  more 
than  here." 

"  Only  we  shall  all  be  loving  children,"  I 
said. 

"  Yes ;  all  dutiful,  loyal  subjects — all  obe- 
dient, loving  children,"  he  replied. 

"  And  that  is  a  vast  deal  to  have  in  com- 
mon." 

"  Yes,  indeed  it  is ;  the  difference  of  differ- 
ences must  always  be  between  those  who 
obey  and  serve,  and  those  who  rebel  and 
do  not  serve  —  the  loyal  and  the  disloyal. 
And  while  I  rejoice  to  think  all  our  intel- 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  107 

lectual  capacities  will  be  expanded  into  glo- 
rious breadth  and  strength,  it  is  far  more 
satisfactory  to  know  we  shall  be  like  Christ 
in  our  spiritual  natures,  be  in  full  sym- 
pathy with  Him  in  His  love  and  purity 
and  holiness.  Yes,  wife,  those  words,  like 
Him,  are  a  vast  revelation  of  what  our 
friends  in  heaven  are  doing,  and  of  what  we 
shall  do  if  we  ever  join  them  !  Think  how 
pure  and  holy  Jesus  was ;  how  tenderly  He 
loved  every  human  being";  how  deep  an  in- 
terest He  took  in  every  little  incident  that 
concerned  them — so  minute  an  interest,  that 
He  said, '  Even  the  very  hairs  of  your  head 
are  all  numbered,'  and  how  He  was  con- 
stantly doing  something  for  the  poor,  the 
sick,  the  lonely,  and  the  sorrowful,  and  we 
get  a  great  insight  into  what  we  shall  do  in 
heaven. 

"  You  are  right,  Annie,"  he  said,  after  a 
pause,  "  to  be  like  Christ  in  His  love  is  far 
more  than  to  be  like  Him  in  His  knowledge, 
if  we  were  forced  to  choose  between  them  ; 
they  harmonize  and  strengthen  each  other ; 


108  OUR    TWO   LIVES. 

more  knowledge  will  help  us  to  love  more  ; 
and  more  love  help  us  to  know  more.  Oh, 
Annie,  to  think  of  loving  like  Christ  as  well 
as  with  Him !  isn't  it  enough  to  make  one 
long  to  soar  away  to  that  better  life  at 
once !  But,  then,  we  can  bring  heaven  to 
earth  by  becoming  more  and  more  like 
Christ  every  day  we  live — that,  after  all,  is 
the  true  glory  of  heaven !" 

I  sometimes  think  Graham  is  too  much 
given  to  speculations,  and  to  "  mapping  out 
the  inconceivable  glory"  himself;  but  he 
says  he  means  to  go  only  so  far  as  the  Bible 
sanctions  him  in  doing.  He  lives  far  nearer 
to  God  and  heaven  than  most  do ;  perhaps 
such  get  a  clearer  insight  into  truth  ; — I  am 
sure  they  do.  For  myself,  I  can  only  in 
meekness  and  lowliness  try  to  do  the  Mas- 
ter's will  in  my  own  poor,  every-day  way ; 
and  then,  perhaps,  I  too  shall  one  day  know 
what  heaven  is  like  and  what  it  is  to  be  like 
Christ  Ineffably  good  and  glorious — I  see 
and  feel  that. 

But  I  enjoy  living  in  this  world  just  as  it 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  XQQ 

is,  even  after  my  great  sorrow,  which  I  never 
forget.  This  has  been  a  pleasant  winter,  in 
spite  of  its  heart-aches,  very  pleasant,  but  in 
an  entirely  different  way  from  all  other  win- 
ters— not  gaiety,  not  joy,  but  resignation 
has  marked  it. 

Had  anybody  told  me  a  year  ago  that 
Bessie  would  die  in  November,  and  that  I 
should  have  a  pleasant  winter,  how  mon- 
strous I  should  have  thought  it !  I  cannot 
understand  it  now — cannot  help  wondering 
that  I  have  not  suffered  more.  There  have 
been  keen  agonies,  sore  heart-aches,  but  they 
have  been  short,  and  a  sweet  peace  abides. 
Can  it  be  His  peace  ?  Is  it  possible  that  to 
such  a  weak,  sinful  creature  as  I,  the  Com- 
forter has  indeed  come ;  I  must  believe  this, 
and  that  it  is  His  presence  that  cheers  me. 
To  His  disciples,  He  said,  "  We  will  come 
unto  Him  and  make  our  abode  with  Him." 
What  thrilling  words  and  what  a  stupen- 
dous truth  !  I  believe  it ;  believe  that  into 
the  weakest,  saddest  heart  that  opens  to  re- 
ceive this  divine  Guest  the  Father  and  the 
10 


TWO  LIVES. 

Son  will  come  and  abide ;  and  the  exalted 
joy  that  abiding  brings,  what  words  can 
express?  The  divine  dwelling  in  the  hu- 
man, the  Infinite  in  the  finite ; — how  marvel- 
lous !  how  glorious !  This  must  be  the  real 
foretaste  of  heavenly  joy — the  truest  heaven 
we  can  know  on  earth !  I  can  rejoice  that 
Bessie  is  happier  than  she  could  have  been 
here.  I  did  want  her ;  I  do  want  her  now 
more  than  words  can  tell ;  but,  when  I  think 
of  all  the  sweetness  and  purity  of  heaven,  I 
seem  to  hear  her  ask,  "  Would  you  keep  me 
back  from  all  this,  mother?" 

No !  I  will  not  mourn  that  my  baby  is  an 
angel.  I  will  bear  my  loneliness  and  heart- 
aches patiently,  remembering  that  I  am  the 
mother  of  a  child  clothed  in  all  the  grace, 
the  beauty,  the  holiness  of  heaven.  I  hoped 
a  great  deal  for  my  darling,  but  never  any- 
thing so  glorious  as  this !  And  she  will  not 
forget  me ;  she  will  be  watching  and  waiting 
for  me.  How  careful  must  I  be  to  keep  my 
soul  free  from  stain  for  her  dear  sake  !  To 
see  her  mother's  soul  foul  with  sin,  might 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  Iu 

dim  her  bright  eyes,  even  in  heaven.  Oh, 
help  me,  Lord,  to  live  worthy  of  the  child 
Thou  hast  given  to  me,  and  as  the  mother 
of  a  spirit  in  glory  should ! 


CHAPTER  VII. 

SPRING  has  come  again ;  the  air  is 
full  of  tender  thrills,  the  buds  are 
everywhere  swelling  and  the  flowers 
springing.  I  dreaded  the  spring,  think- 
ing it  would  be  harder  to  have  ray  baby 
dead  when  everything  else  was  full  of 
life,  but  I  do  not  find  it  so.  I  rejoice  that 
it  is  life  and  not  death  that  pervades  the 
universe. 

I  strolled  through  a  beautiful  old  wood 
this  morning,  and  the  new  life  stirring  there 
gave  me  inexpressible  delight ;  as  I  leaned 
against  the  trunk  of  an  oak  tree,  I  could  al- 
most feel  the  sap  creeping  up  through  each 
vein  and  fibre,  carrying  a  wealth  of  green- 
ness and  beauty  to  its  outermost  stem  and 
branch  ;  how  i*  would  change  that  brown, 

(na) 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  II3 

leafless,  unsightly  tree  into  a  mass  of  living 
verdure  and  loveliness  that  would  delight 
the  eye  of  every  passer-by  !  What  a  touch- 
ing type  of  the  human  soul  was  that  tree- 
dark,  cold,  and  barren  till  breathed  upon  by 
the  divine  Spirit,  kindling  it  into  indescrib- 
able beauty,  grace  and  fruitfulness.  How 
one  longs  for  this  inward  quickening,  when 
all  nature  is  being  thus  revivified!  Each 
spring  the  world  seems  more  enchantingly 
beautiful,  more  full  of  love  and  light  and 
joy.  Coleridge  says : 

"  Ours  is  her  wedding-garment;  ours  her  shroud." 

I  am  glad  that  to  me  it  is  the  wedding-gar- 
ment, not  the  shroud. 

But  there  are  sad  hearts  which  this  cheer- 
ing spring  warmth  does  not  penetrate ;  the 
sick  and  suffering  suffer  still,  though  all  the 
air  is  filled  with  light  and  fragrance.  Mary 
Beebe,  poor  soul,  is  dying  of  consumption ; 
her  little  Laura  survived  the  scarlet-fever, 
but  she  is  blind,  and  probably  will  be  all  her 
life  in  consequence.  Soon  after  Bessie's 
10* 


H4  OUR  TWO  LIVES- 

death,  the  mother  came  to  see  me,  and  I 
could  well  understand  the  tremor  in  her 
voice  when  she  said, — 

"  There  are  troubles  harder  to  bear  than 
yours,  Mrs.  Kingston." 

Yes,  indeed ;  she,  with  that  invalid  child 
and  a  miserably  intemperate  husband,  had  a 
far  heavier  burden,  I  knew.  I  wanted  to 
comfort  her ; — I  who  had  so  much  to  rejoice 
in  —  my  darling  safe  in  heaven,  pure  and 
Deautiful  forever,  and  my  dear,  strong  hus- 
band left  to  me  on  Dearth.  A  few  weeks 
later  her  husband  was  taken  sick,  and  after 
a  long,  suffering  illness  died.  I  suppose  that 
must  be  a  relief;  but  the  poor  woman  was 
so  worn  down  by  the  care  of  him,  that  she 
soon  took  to  her  bed  and  has  never  since 
been  able  to  leave  it.  I  do  not  think  she 
can  live  long.  It  is  distressing  to  see  her ; 
she  lies  gasping  for  breath,  with  three  poor 
children  hanging  round  her,  to  be  left  with- 
out parent,  home  or  means ;  and  saddest  of 
all  is  poor  Laura's  patient,  suffering  face 
from  which  the  light  has  all  gone  out.  What 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  115 

must  it  be  for  that  sick  mother  to  lie  there 
all  day  and  all  night — and  think! 

She  was  more  comfortable  to-day,  breath- 
ing easier  and  sitting  up  in  bed  propped  by 
pillows,  and  was  inclined  to  talk  more  than 
usual. 

"  I  do  not  fear  death  for  myself,"  she  said, 
"  but  the  children — the  children ;  oh,  how 
can  I  leave  the  children !" 

I  -tried  to  say  something  comforting ;  but 
I  was  choking,  and  my  heart,  too,  cried  out, 
'  How  can  she  leave  them  ?" 

"  My  oldest  sister  will  take  Hannah,"  she 
went  on  to  say ;  "  she's  a  strong,  capable 
child,  and  will  make  her  way  in  the  world ; 
and  Tom  can  go  to  my  uncle's  till  a  place  is 
found  for  him;  but  poor  Laura— who  wiL 
be  good  to  her?  If  she  could  only  die  with 
me  and  be  laid  in  the  same  coffin,  I  could 
lie  down  in  the  grave  in  peace." 

What  could  I  say  ?  The  poor  thing  had 
crept  close  to  me  and  stood  with  her  sight- 
less eyes  at  my  knee  stroking  my  silk  dress 
with  her  little  hand.  I  lifted  her  to  my  lap, 


11(5  OUR    TWO   LIVES. 

but  not  caressingly,  for  she  is  not  an  inter- 
esting child,  but  a  sickly,  puny  thing  that 
only  excites  one's  pity ;  and  her  voice  is 
a  sad,  little  wail.  If  God  would  take  her 
to  himself,  how  much  better  it  would  be ! 
But  God  does  not  take  puny,  motherless 
children  to  himself;  He  leaves  them  to  the 
compassion  of  human  hearts. 

"  You  have  always  been  my  best  friend," 
said  the  suffering  woman,  "  and  I  want  .you 
should  advise  me  now.  I  can't  die  till  I 
know  what  will  become  of  Laura.  Oh  don't 
let  her  go  to  the  poor-house ;  they  wouldn't 
be  good  to  her  there !"  she  cried,  in  a  voice 
shrill  with  pain. 

"  No,  she  shall  not  go  there,"  I  said,  but 
without  any  clear  idea  how  I  could  pre- 
vent it." 

"  She  isn't  hard  to  take  care  of;  she  only 
needs  watching ;  but  she  is  a  shy,  timid  little 
thing.  You  are  the  only  person  she  goes 
to;  if  any  other  neighbor  comes  in,  she 
runs  and  hides;  she  likes  your  voice,  I  sup- 
pose." 


OUR   TWO  LIVES.  \\j 

I  looked  down  at  the  child  ;  she  laid  her 
thin,  little  hand  on  my  cheek,  and  in  her 
sad,  quavering  tone  said, — 

"  Yes,  I  likes  it." 

My  tears  dropped  thick  on  the  wan,  up- 
turned face. 

"  Don't  ky,  pretty  lady,  don't  ky — I  won't 
be  naughty,"  she  whispered. 

"Just  Bessie's  age — just  Bessie's  age!" 
This  kept  repeating  itself  in  my  ears ;  yet  I 
fairly  started  when  Mrs.  Beebe,  fastening 
her  eager,  famishing  eyes  on  me,  said, — 

"  She  was  born  the  same  day  your  little 
Bessie  was — the  thirteenth  of  October." 

Yes,  and  what  if  Bessie  were  being  left  in 
the  world  blind,  motherless,  poor,  with  no 
heart  to  love  and  cherish  her? 

"  I  promise  you,  Mrs.  Beebe,  she  shall 
never  want  for  care,"  I  said.  "  I  don't  know 
what  can  be  done,  but  I  will  see  she  does 
not  suffer." 

"  God  bless  you,"  cried  the  dying  woman, 
"  He  will  bless  you,'  and  a  peaceful  smile 
rested  on  her  face. 


Ug  OUR   TWO  LIVES. 

Many  thoughts  crowded  on  my  brain  as  I 
walked  home.  I  felt  half  guilty  for  having 
made  the  promise,  but  how  could  I  have 
done  otherwise?  I  hope  I  may  find  some 
kind-hearted  woman  who  for  love  or  money 
will  take  the  child  and  be  good  to  her ;  but 
I  will  certainly  keep  my  word  to  that  poor 
dying  creature,  and  see  that  she  is  not  neg- 
lected or  abused. 

After  reaching  home  I  could  see  nothing 
but  poor  Mary  Beebe's  dying  eyes ;  and 
"just  as  old  as  Bessie"  kept  ringing  in  my 
ears.  I  told  Graham  about  it  when  he 
came,  keeping  back  nothing  but  a  possibility 
that  would  thrust  i*self  into  my  thoughts, 
but  which  I  resolutely  put  down  and  meant 
to  keep  down.  If  she  were  a  pleasing,  at- 
tractive child,  it  would  be  so  different,  but 
my  whole  heart  rose  up  against  the  thought 
of  taking  her  into  my  own  home ;  and  yet 
the  idea  would  recur  again  and  again,  and 
a  soft  voice  kept  pleading  for  her  in  my 
heart ;  but  I  was  determined  not  to  heed  it ; 
and  1  felt  half  angry  when  Graham,  who 


OUR    TWO   LIVES.  ng 

had  been  sitting  silent  for  some  time  with 
his  hand  over  his  eyes,  said, — 

"  Annie,  has  it  ever  occurred  to  you  that 
we  might  take  Laura  Beebe  1" 

"  How — in  what  way  ?"  I  asked,  unamiably. 

"  I  hardly  know ;  perhaps  it  isn't  practi- 
cable ;  but  it  seems  hard  to  have  the  poor 
child  thrown  on  indiscriminate  chanty,  and 
our  house  is  so  empty  !  She  is  just  Bessie's 
age,  you  know." 

"Yes,  and  if  she  were  blind  and  you  were 
dying,  wouldn't  you  want  somebody  to  take 
her  and  be  kind  to  her?"  whispered  the 
pleading  voice. 

"  I  couldn't  have  anybody  taking  Bessie's 
place,"  I  said  aloud  ;  "it  isn't  to  be  thought 
of  for  a  moment,  Graham ; — no,  I  never 
could  !"  I  burst  into  sobs,  and  no  more  was 
said  about  it. 

Still,  the  inward  voice  was  not  silenced. 
It  is  strange  how  things  will  come  to  us. 
Years  before  I  had  heard  a  celebrated 
preacher  who,  in  speaking  of  our  duties  tc 
the  poor,  after  vividly  depicting  the  miser- 


120  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

able  condition  of  a  filthy,  degraded  outcast, 
had  said,  "  You  pass  that  poor  creature  by 
with  scorn  and  loathing ;  but  Gabriel,  if  he 
were  permitted  to,  would  joyfully  fly  from 
his  bright  seat  in  heaven  to  minister  to  her; 
but  it  is  not  Gabriel's  work,  it  is  yours,  and 
you  neglect  it ;  you,  forsooth,  are  too  dainty 
to  soil  your  fingers  by  touching  work  like 
that."  I  had  not  thought  of  these  words 
for  years ;  but  now  they  sprang  up  in  my 
mind  as  fresh  and  vivid  as  if  just  spoken, 
and  to  me.  Yes,  here  was  work.  I  wanted, 
or  professed  to  want  to  work  for  my  Master ; 
here  was  an  opportunity  to  do  something 
for  Him  brought  to  my  very  door.  "  Inas- 
much as  ye  have  done  it  unto  one  of  the  least 
of  these  ye  have  done  it  unto  me"  Again  and 
again  during  the  following  week,  I  heard 
that  still,  small  voice,  and  again  and  again  1 
hushed  it. 

"It  would  be  preposterous,  absurd,"  I  said 
to  myself,  "nobody  else  would  ever  think 
of  doing  it,  and  why  should  I  ?  If  she  came 
into  the  b  juse,  the  care  of  her  must  come 


OUR   TWO  LIVES.  I2i 

on  me ;  a  three-year-old  child,  and  blind  be- 
sides, could  not  be  left  to  servants ;  and  what 
an  undertaking  it  would  be  to  bring  up  such 
a  child  as  that !  No,  I  never  could  do  h, 
never!" 

"  Somebody  must  do  it,  or  the  child  be 
left  to  suffer,"  said  the  pleading  voice.  "  If 
Christ  were  on  earth,  He  certainly  would 
do  something  for  her ;  He  would  pity  her, 
speak  gently  to  her,  and  give  her  sight. 
You  can't  do  that,  but  you  can  be  kind  and 
tender  to  her." 

Yes,  I  could.  I  went  out  that  very  after- 
noon to  see  several  persons  who  I  thought 
might  be  persuaded  to  take  her  by  being 
paid,  but  without  success ;  and  it  was  with 
a  heavy  heart  I  turned  down  the  little  lane 
in  which  the  Beebe's  lived.  The  nurse  told 
me  Mrs.  Beebe  was  sinking  fast,  and  could 
not  possibly  survive  the  night.  I  stepped 
into  the  room  for  a  moment,  but,  as  she  lay 
apparently  unconscious,  was  about  to  come 
away,  when  she  opened  her  eyes  and  fixed 
them  on  r-v.  ;  f.ij.j,  sLruj^ling1  t  j  speak.  I 


£22  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

bent  over  her,  but  could  only  catch  an  mar- 
ticulate  murmur.  I  gave  her  a  little  wine, 
and  after  swallowing  it  with  difficulty,  she 
revived  a  little  and  murmured, — 

"  Lau — ra — you  will — " 

"  Take  her?  Yes,  I  will,"  I  said,  moved  by 
I  know  not  what  sudden,  irresistible  impulse. 

The  brightness  and  joy  that  came  over 
that  dying  face,  I  shall  never  forget;  new 
life  seemed  to  pervade  her  whole  frame  ;  she 
almost  lifted  herself  up,  and  in  quite  a  dis- 
tinct voice  said, — 

"  Oh !  God  will  bless  you  for  it ! — bless 
you !" 

She  fell  back,  her  eyes  still  fixed  on  my 
face,  while  her  own  beamed  with  joy ;  but 
the  breathing  grew  very  short  and  faint, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  all  was  over.  I  softly 
closed  her  eyelids,  praying  from  my  inmost 
soul  that  God  would  enable  me  to  faithfully 
keep  the  pledge  I  had  made  to  that  depart- 
ing spirit,  now  gone  to  be  with  Him  in  Para- 
dise. By  His  grace  he/ping  me,  I  could  do 
it,  and  I  would. 


OUR    TWO  LIVES. 


123 


Strange  as  it  seems,  from  that  moment  my 
aversion  to  taking  Laura  went  out  of  my 
heart.  I  felt,  instead,  glad  that  I  had  been 
permitted  to  cheer  that  poor  woman's  de- 
parting spirit;  and  if  my  pledge  involved 
hardships  and  self-denial,  as  it  certainly  did, 
it  would  be  done  for  "  the  least  of  these  my 
brethren,"  and,  therefore,  for  Christ  himself. 
It  seemed  almost  too  wonderful,  too  glori- 
ous to  be  true,  that  I  could  do  this  for  Him, 
and  in  this  humble  way  become  a  co-worker 
with  Him. 

A  warm  glow  was  in  my  heart  as  I  step- 
ped lightly  homeward  over  the  frozen 
ground,  meeting  my  husband  just  as  he  was 
coming  in  at  the  gate  for  his  tea.  When  I 
told  him  what  I  had  done,  his  face  grew 
fairly  radiant,  and  he  folded  me  to  his  heart, 
saying  — 

"You  dear,  blessed  little  wife,  it  is  just 
what  I  expected  of  you !"  and  I  believe  we 
both  cried — but  not  for  sorrow. 

Soon  after  tea  Laura  was  brought  in  ;  the 
poor  little,  half-frozen  thing  was  sadly  fright- 


!24  OUX   TWO  LIVES. 

ened  and  began  to  cry ;  but  I  took  her  in 
my  arms  and  spoke  soothingly  to  her,  and 
the  moment  she  heard  my  voice  she  put  her 
hand  up  to  my  cheek  with  a  soft,  caressing 
touch,  that  went  to  my  heart ;  and,  cuddling 
down  with  a  look  of  perfect  contentment  on 
her  poor  little  wan  face,  was  soon  fast  asleep. 
I  clasped  her  to  my  heart,  another  God- 
given  child  to  be  loved  and  cherished.  I 
made  up  the  little  crib  which  had  never 
been  taken  from  its  place  in  the  corner  since 
Bessie  left  it ;  not  with  an  aching  heart,  not 
grudgingly,  but  with  an  indescribable  sense 
of  peace  and  satisfaction. 

As  I  looked  at  her  thin,  pinched  face  lying 
in  soft  slumber  on  the  pillow  where  Bessie's 
used  to  lie>  I  seemed  to  see  her  mother's 
spirit  bending  over  us  both,  in  love  and 
blessing;  to  see,  too,  my  own  sweet  dar- 
ling's face  gazing  at  me  with  beaming  eyes, 
and  hear  her  whisper,  "  I  am  so  glad — so 
glad,  mamma !" 

Yes,  perhaps  my  angelic  child  did  rejoice 
that  I  had  taken  that  poor,  forsaken  waif 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  125 

into  my  bosom  and  into  her  little  crib — who 
can  say  ?  I  know  the  thought  lay  soft  and 
warm  at  my  heart  that  night,  and  for  many 
a  day  and  night,  and  I  do  not  think  it  harmed 
me.  More  touching  still  was  the  thought  that 
the  Father  of  the  fatherless  was  surely  there, 
shedding  on  us  both  His  paternal  benediction. 

"  God  has  given  us  another  child  to  care 
for  now,"  I  said  to  Graham,  with  tearful  eyes. 

"  Yes,  one  He  has  himself  sent." 

"  I  hope  so,"  I  said,  "  and  I  don't  believe 
we  shall  ever  be  sorry  !" 

"  I  am  sure  we  never  shall,  my  precious 
little  wife." 

And  we  talked  of  the  peculiar  trials  her 
blindness  would  cause  us,  and  of  how  differ- 
ent it  would  be  from  having  our  own  Bessie 
to  train.  I  did  not  shrink  in  dismay  from 
these  trials,  for  I  was  well  and  strong,  and 
needed  more  to  do  than  just  to  take  care  of 
my  husband ;  and  I  felt  that  if  wisdom  and 
patience  were  only  given  to  me  to  train  her 
rightly,  I  would  rejoice  in  the  work,  not 
murmur  at  it. 


126  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

"  I  shall  have  to  be  a  great  deal  more  care- 
ful, to  be  forbearing  and  patient  with  her, 
for  not  having  any  mother-love  in  my  heart," 
I  said. 

"  I  think  Christ-love  will  be  just  as  effect- 
ual," he  said,  smiling. 

Graham's  prayer  that  night  was  one  1 
shall  never  forget ;  it  was  such  an  uplifting, 
holy  one;  so  full  of  exultant  joy  and  faith 
that  it  seemed  as  if  the  very  air  thrilled  with 
the  glory  of  the  divine  presence,  and  that 
we  must  put  off  our  shoes,  because  the  place 
where  we  stood  was  holy  ground.  Do  an- 
gels, do  redeemed  spirits,  indeed,  come  and 
bless  us  with  the  touch  of  unseen  fingers? 
That  dead  mother  and  Bessie  seemed  so 
near  to  me  that  night,  their  faces  beaming 
with  such  radiant  smiles,  that  I  can  almost 
think  they  do.  Graham  says  he  is  sure  this 
poor  little  child  will  be  a  new  link  to  bind 
us  closer  to  Christ ;  that  love  to  one  of  His 
creatures  brings  us  into  communion  with 
all  loving  spirits,  and  most  of  all  with  Him 
wlose  name  is  Love.  Yes,  I  trust  He  ap- 


OUR    TWC  LIVES. 


127 


proves  what  we  have  done;  and  we  will 
try  to  so  train  the  child  that  one  day  we  may 
bring  her  rejoicingly  home  —  another  glad 
spirit  around  His  throne  in  heaven. 

It  thrilled  me  with  tender,  not  painful 
emotion  to  hear  again  the  soft  breathing  of 
a  cnild  by  my  side  that  night.  Bessie  needs 
my  care  and  watching  no  longer,  but  little 
Laura  does,  and  she  shall  have  the  tenderest 
cherishing  I  can  give  her. 

She  slept  all  night,  waking  about  daylight 
with  a  pitiful  little  wail,  instead  of  the  joyful 
outcry  of  my  own  baby ;  but  there  was  a 
tender  appeal  to  my  sympathy  in  the  wail, 
and  still  more  in  the  confiding  touch  of  her 
soft  little  hand.  Poor  thing!  the  daylight 
and  the  darkness  were  all  alike  to  her,  but  I 
soothed  her  to  sleep,  and  we  had  finished 
breakfast  before  she  again  woke. 

I  tenderly  washed  and  dressed  her — in 
Bessie's  own  little  garments,  for  I  had  no 
other  ready — there  was  a  sharp  pain  in  my 
heart  as  I  once  more  tied  the  little  strings 
and  buttoned  the  buttons,  but  the  joy  over- 


128  OUR    TWO 

laid  the  pain,  and  when  she  was  dressed  she 
looked  so  sweet  and  clean,  and  had  such  a 
peaceful  smile  on  her  thin  face,  I  wondered 
I  had  ever  thought  her  plain.  There  is 
nothing  in  the  look  of  her  eyes  to  show  their 
blindness,  only  a  careful  observer  would  no- 
tice a  little  droop  of  the  eyelid,  and  that 
something,  perhaps,  was  wanting  in  expres- 
sion ;  but  the  general  impression  one  gets 
is  only  of  very  soft,  dark  blue  eyes.  She  is 
a  very  clinging  child ;  and  over  and  over, 
when  I  was  dressing  her,  she  said, — 
"  I  loves  you — I  loves  you,  I  do !" 
"And  I  love  you,  my  dear,"  I  said;  and 
was  glad  I  could  say  it  truthfully. 

Such  a  lovely  expression  lighted  up  her 
face  when  I  said  this,  kissing  her  for  the 
first  time,  that  my  whole  heart  went  out  to 
her.  She  was,  indeed,  with  this  sensitive 
nature,  the  last  child  to  be  thrown  on  the 
charity  of  strangers  or  taken  to  the  poor- 
house.  No  wonder  her  poor  mother  could 
not  die  in  peace  till  she  was  sure  some  one 
would  be  "  kind  to  Laura." 


OUR   TWO  LIVES.  i2g 

When  I  put  her  down,  she  ran  across  the 
room,  and  feeling  all  about  the  bed  care- 
fully, said,  "  Where  am  I  ?  and  where's  my 
mamma? 

I  took  her  again  in  my  arms,  and  folding 
her  to  my  bosom,  I  said,  gently, — 

"Your  mamma  has  gone  away  to  live 
with  the  beautiful  angels  in  heaven." 

She  turned  her  sightless  eyes  imploringly 
to  my  face,  "  Won't  she  come  back  again — 
I  want  my  mamma,"  she  said,  with  a  pierc- 
ing cry. 

"  You  will  some  day  go  and  live  with  her 
among  the  beautiful  angels,"  I  said. 

"  I  want  my  mamma — I  want  her  now  /" 

And  she  sobbed  till  her  whole  frame 
shook,  not  noisily  as  most  children  do,  but 
with  suppressed  low  sobs,  twice  as  hard  to 
bear.  I  let  her  grief  have  vent,  thinking  it 
was  best  so ;  she  evidently  comprehended 
the  true  state  of  things,  far  more  clearly 
than  most  children  of  her  age  would,  and  I 
did  not  choose  to  deceive  her. 

When  she  became  a  little  quiet,  I  set  her 


130 


OUR    TWO  LIVES. 


down  and,  opening  my  piano,  played  a  low, 
sweet  strain;  she  listened,  as  if  entranced, 
while  a  soft  light  stole  over  her  face.  I  was 
rejoiced  to  see  that  she  had  the  passion  for 
music  so  often  given  to  the  blind,  apparently 
as  a  compensation  for  their  loss  of  sight. 
She  came  to  the  piano  and,  passing  her  hand 
softly  over  the  keys,  said,  "  pretty — pretty  !" 
I  gave  her  some  toys — Bessie's  toys — feel- 
ing that  they  were  hallowed,  not  desecrated, 
by  such  a  use,  and  she  amused  herself  with 
them  for  hours,  never  speaking  a  word.  If 
I  saw  another  childish  figure  there,  another 
dimpled  hand,  it  did  not  pain  me ;  if  my 
own  darling  were  near — and  she  had  never 
seemed  so  near  since  she  went  away  —  I 
knew  the  angel  spirit  would  rejoice  to  see 
how  happy  the  earth-child  was  made. 


Laura  has  now  been  with  us  over  two 
months,  and  is  a  perfect  picture  of  quiet 
happiness,  gliding  noiselessly  about  the 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  131 

house,  never  making  a  mis-step  or  losing 
her  way  ;  besides  being  clothed  and  fed,  she 
needs  very  little  care,  and  it  is  perfectly  as- 
tonishing how  little  trouble  she  makes  me. 
Her  mother  spoke  truly  when  she  said  she 
would  not  be  a  troublesome  child.  I  sup- 
pose she  was  thrown  so  entirely  on  herself 
during  her  mother's'illness  that  she  learned 
to  amuse  herself;  and,  instead  of  being  un- 
happy, she  seems  a  .wonderfully  happy 
child ;  only  not  in  a  noisy,  boisterous  way, 
for  she  seldom  makes  a  sound,  tier  great- 
est treat  is  music  from  the  piano ;  and  the 
greatest  punishment  I  can  inflict,  if  she  has 
been  naughty,  is  not  to  play  a  few  tunes  for 
her  before  she  goes  to  bed,  as  I  am  in  the 
habit  of  doing ;  but  she  seldom  is  naughty, 
not  half  so  often  as  Bessie  was,  partly  be- 
cause she  has  less  animal  spirits ;  but  she  has 
also  a  much  better  disposition,  is  more  affec- 
tionate and  anxious  to  please  us.  Now  that 
she  has  suitable  food  and  care,  her  face  and 
little  body  are  getting  really  plump,  and  I 
think  she  would  be  called  a  nice-looking 


132 


OUR    TWC   LIVES. 


child  by  any  one.  But  she  is  painfully  shy 
of  strangers,  and  can  rarely  be  persuaded  to 
speak  to  any  one  out  of  the  family. 

Miss  Patty  Train  made  me  a  call  yester- 
day, stopping  on  her  way  to  the  prayer- 
meeting. 

"Well,  it  doos  beat  all,"  she  said,  "your 
takin'  that  are  blind  gal  of  Beeby's  to  bring 
up.  I  don't  say  'tain't  all  right,  but  it's  cu- 
ris  how  you  ever  come  to  think  o'  such  a 
thing.  I  told  Miss  Stone,  says  I,  I  guess 
'twas  cause  she's  just  the  same  age  as  Betsy. 
'  I  think  'twas  foolish  if  she  was,'  says  she. 
'  If  I'd  bin  goin'  to  take  a  child  at  all,  I'd 
took  one  that  was  come  of  decent  folks,' 
says  she." 

We  had  thought  of  that  matter  of  ances- 
try before ;  it  had  troubled  me,  I  own,  but 
Graham  settled  it  by  saying, — 

"  She's  the  child  of  a  saint  in  glory,  and 
that  is  a  good  family  enough  for  me." 

So  it  should  be  for  me,  then,  who  had  no 
Kingston  blood  in  my  veins.  I  was  tempted 
to  tell  Miss  Patty  that,  but  I  said,  instead,— 


•  OUR    TWO  LIVES.  13$ 

"  I  hope  she  will  grow  up  a  good  and  use- 
ful woman." 

"  I  guess  she  will,  Miss  Kingston ;  she 
hain't  got  a  mite  of  Beeby  in  her;  she's 
Temple  all  over.  Miss  Beeby  was  a 
Temple,  and  as  good  a  woman  as  ever 
lived." 

"  Yes,"  I  said  ;  "  she  is  one  of  those  who 
'will  wear  the  white  robes,  having  come 
out  of  much  tribulation.'  " 

"  It's  curis  now  what  a  difference  there 
is  in  folks,"  said  Miss  Patty,  "some  folks 
wouldn't  touch  such  a  child  more'n  they 
would  a  toad,  but  I  don't  believe  'twill  sile 
your  fingers  any ;  and  doin'  good  to  some- 
body kind  o'  takes  the  soreness  out  o'  a 
Dody's  heart  when  the  Lord  has  bruised  it." 

Miss  Patty  is  right ;  it  does  take  the  sore- 
ness out.  Miss  Patty  is  getting  to  be  quite 
cheerful,  too ;  she  did  not  croak  once  while 
she  was  here,  nor  utter  one  dismal  proph- 
ecy ;  to  be  sure,  she  advised  me  to  take  "  a 
little  seeny  and  rhubub  to  keep  off  the  jan- 
ders  now  warm  weather  is  comin'  on,"  but 
12 


i34  OUR 

fortunately,  I  am  not  obliged  to  follow  her 
prescription. 

Aunt  Katharine  is  greatly  rejoiced  that 
we  have  taken  Laura ;  she,  too,  thinks  it  is 
the  best  thing  for  a  stricken  heart  to  be 
helping  others.  She  advises  our  taking  her 
to  the  city  to  be  examined  by  some  experi- 
enced oculist,  that  we  may  be  sure  with  re- 
gard to  her  eyes ;  we  had  intended  to  do  so, 
and  shall  go  as  soon  as  Graham  can  find 
leisure.  He  is  very  fond  of  Laura  and  in- 
expressibly tender  to  her ;  they  never  romp 
together  after  the  old  fashion,  but  she 
watches  quite  as  eagerly  for  his  home-com- 
ing ;  her  quick  ear  detects  his  approach  far 
sooner  than  my  eyes,  and  she  trips  down 
the  steps  like  a  little  fairy,  to  be  brought 
back  triumphantly  in  his  arms,  her  face  all 
in  a  glow  of  ecstacy.  I  never  saw  a  child's 
face  express  so  much  as  hers ;  the  eyes  do 
not  change,  but  every  feature  fairly  gleams 
when  she  is  pleased,  and  to  see  her  when  I 
am  playing  on  the  piano  is  a  study  for  an 
artist;  she  stands  with  her  head  bent  a  little 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  135 

forward,  eagerly  drinking  in  every  sound, 
oer  face  changing  with  every  changing 
Strain.  No  one  could  live  with  her  and  not 
become  attached  to  her ;  her  very  infirmity 
interests  you,  and  is  an  added  claim  on  your 
love  and  kindness ;  but  I  fear  she  is  of  too 
sensitive  a  temperament  to  get  on  well  in 
our  rough  world,  and  we  must  try  to  edu- 
cate her  wisely  in  this  respect. 


We  have  taken  Laura  to  Dr.  W ,  he 

says  the  optic  nerve  is  paralyzed,  and  there 
is  no  possible  cure  for  that.  No,  the  poor 
child  can  never  see.  I  have  shed  a  great 
many  tears  over  it ;  I  did  not  know  till  he 
gave  us  his  decision  how  much  I  had  hoped 
for  a  different  one.  But  perhaps  the  dear 
child  may  be  as  happy  as  other  children, 
though  in  a  very  different  way ;  one  thing  I 
am  sure  of,  while  either  Graham  or  I  live, 
she  will  have  the  tenderest  love  and  cher- 
ishing.  I  can  so  well  understand  now  how 


136  O UK    TWO  LIVES. 

her  poor  mother  could  not  die  in  peace  till 
she  knew  some  one  would  be  kind  to  her 
poor  helpless  orphan.  The  dear  child  will 
see  in  heaven ; — it  is  a  comfort  to  know 
that! 

We  stopped  to  see  Aunt  Katharine  on 
our  way  home,  who  was  just  as  good  and 
lovely  as  ever.  She  opened  her  great  heart 
to  take  in  our  little  waif  at  once,  and  said 
she  almost  envied  me  the  training  of  such  a 
child,  and  that  if  she  were  a  little  younger 
she  would  try  to  find  some  poor  stray  to 
adopt  herself.  She  had  the  training  of  two 
orphan  nieces,  who  now  are  the  brightness 
and  charm  of  her  life,  she  says.  I  urged 
her  coming  home  with  us,  but  she  seemed 
to  prefer  her  own  home  during  the  hot 
weather. 

My  little  blind  child  is  dearer  than  ever, 
now  I  know  she  is  doomed  to  perpetual 
darkness ;  we  must  try  to  let  all  the  sunlight 
possible  into  her  soul,  that  within  there  may 
be  light  in  spite  of  the  surrounding  dark- 
ness. They  tell  me  the  blind  are  usually 


OUR    TWO  LIVES. 


137 


cheerful,  and  so  far  Laura  certainly  has 
been  ;  but  oh  !  it  is  a  sad  thing  to  be  in  such 
i  fair,  bright  world  as  this  and  see  nothing 
of  its  beauty ! 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  WHOLE  year  has  passed  since  I 
have  written  here,  and  the  Spring 
loveliness  is  again  brightening  on  the 
earth.  The  year  brought  few  outward 
changes,  but  we  have  had  enough  to 
occupy  our  thoughts;  Laura  has  thriven 
beyond  all  expectation,  and  is  now  a  plump 
and  perfectly  healthy  child,  happy  as  a  bird, 
singing  about  the  house  from  morning  till 
night :  Graham's  name  for  her  is  "  Singing 
Birdie,"  and  she  deserves  it,  having  a  mar- 
vellously sweet  voice  for  a  child  so  young. 

It  is  curious  to  watch  the  development 
of  her  faculties,  so  different,  in  many  re- 
spects, from  that  of  other  children.  She 
passes  her  hand  carefully  over  every  new 
object,  and,  by  some  mysterious  instinct, 
seems  in  that  way  to  get  an  accurate  idea 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  i^g 

of  it.  She  calls  this  seeing.  Her  likes  and 
dislikes  are  very  strong,  particularly  for 
persons,  whom  she  judges  of  by  their 
voices.  She  is  delighted  by  some  and  re- 
pelled by  others.  When  the  tones  are  true 
and  kind,  she  calls  it  pretty ;  or  if  harsh,  or 
in  any  way  disagreeable,  she  shrugs  her 
shoulders  and  says,  "  Ugly — ugly." 

The  other  day  a  little  girl  of  her  own 
age  came  with  her  mother  to  spend  the 
day  She  felt  carefully  of  her  face,  her 
hands,  her  dress,  even  to  the  ends  of  her 
/ittle  shoes,  and  then  came  running  to  me — 
'  Pretty  girl — pretty  girl,  Auntie,  I  see  her 
all ;"  and  at  once  established  an  intimacy 
with  her.  If  the  investigation  had  not  been 
satisfactory,  nothing  would  have  induced 
her  to  go  near  her  again. 

Her  fondness  for  flowers,  and  delight  in 
them,  is  extraordinary.  Without  seeing 
one  of  their  beautiful  tints,  she  gets  rare 
enjoyment  from  them — from  their  fragrance, 
I  suppose — though  I  sometimes  think  she 
hears  their  gentle  swaying  in  the  breeze. 


140  OUR    TWO   LIVES. 

"  She  sings — she  sings,"  she  will  sometimes 
say  of  a  lily  or  a  rose,  and  her  quick  ear 
catches  every  out-of-door  sound.  The 
murmur  of  insects,  the  twitter  of  birds,  the 
rustle  of  leaves,  the  sighing  of  the  wind, 
the  tinkle  of  rain-drops,  all  fill  her  with  de- 
light. 

It  really  does  seem  to  us  that  she  is  hap- 
pier than  ordinary  children,  so  good  is 
God  to  those  we  are  apt  to  think  hardly 
dealt  with.  She  has  had  but  one  illness ; 
but  that  being  a  severe  one,  I  was  a  good 
deal  alarmed  for  a  few  days.  It  showed 
us  how  dear  she  had  become  to  us ;  for  it 
would,  indeed,  have  been  hard  to  give  her 
up.  She  lavishes  so  much  affection  on  us, 
that  we  cannot  help  repaying  her  in  her 
own  coin.  Yes,  she  has  a  large  place  in  our 
hearts — not  Bessie's  place,  but  her  own — 
and  a  very  tender  one  it  is.  She  always 
calls  Graham  Papa  and  me  Auntie,  having 
taken  both  up  of  herself.  We  do  not  inter- 
fere with  the  fancy,  as  it  will  correct  itself 
when  she  grows  older. 


OUR   TWO  LIVES.  141 

What  a  mistake  we  should  have  made  if 
we  had  not  taken  this  warm-hearted,  sensi- 
tive little  child  to  our  bosoms  !  How  little 
I  knew  what  a  treasure  the  Lord  was  offer- 
ing me  when  I  wanted  to  thrust  her  away ! 
What  if  I  had  ?  What  if  she  had  gone  to  the 
poor-house,  the  dear,  shrinking,  tender- 
hearted little  thing  ?  It  makes  me  shudder 
to  think  of  it  ?  If  I  have  done  something 
for  her,  she  has  done  much  more  for  me ; 
wakening  a  new  fountain  of  tenderness  in 
my  heart — not  the  same  I  felt  for  my  own 
darling  child,  but  a  very  sweet  and  precious 
one ;  and  my  heart  would  be  sadly  vacant 
without  her  now;  and  Graham  is  even 
fonder  of  her  than  I. 

Graham  is  gone  a  great  deal,  and,  I  fear, 
is  overworking  himself,  for  he  has  had  sev- 
eral ill  turns — a  new  thing  for  him ;  but  he 
makes  very  light  of  it. 


A  new  sorrow  has  come  with  these  lovely 
Spring   days ;    Aunt   Katharine   has    gone 


I42  OUR   TWO  LIVES. 

w  home."  She  died  very  suddenly  of  heart 
disease,  and  we  have  just  come  from  the 
funeral.  She  looked  most  beautiful  in  her 
coffin,  with  her  clear-cut,  classic  features 
lying  in  that  soft  repose,  and  a  sweet  smile 
resting  on  them.  Dear  Aunt  Katharine  ! 
I  loved  her  very  tenderly,  and  looked  to 
her  for  advice  and  counsel ;  but  it  would  be 
selfish  to  weep,  because  she  has  gone  to 
that  home  she  so  loved  and  yearned  for. 

I  never  knew  any  one  take  such  cheerful 
views  of  death  as  Graham. 

"  There  can  be  no  death,"  he  says,  "  to  a 
Christian.  It  is  only  intenser,  more  glori- 
ous life — a  life  where  our  capacity  for  every- 
thing great  and  noble  will  continually  en- 
large and  be  filled  ;  where  everything  that 
is  best  in  us  will  be  expanded  beyond  and 
above  all  we  have  ever  dreamed  of.  Aunt 
Katharine  is  not  dead  !  I  cannot  conceive 
of  such  a  noble  spirit  as  her's  going  out. 
Dead?  She  is  just  beginning  to  live  in 
the  best  sense  ;  and  is  that  a  thing  to  mourn 
over,  Annie  ?" 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  i^ 

"  No,"  I  said  ;  "  but  there  is  another  side 
to  be  looked  at.  If  it  is  life  and  glory  to 
those  who  go,  it  is  loneliness  and  desolation 
to  those  who  stay  behind." 

I  thought,  what  if  Graham  and  I  should 
ever  be  separated  !  Perhaps  he  thought  of 
it,  too ;  for  he  said,  very  tenderly : 

"  So  it  is,  darling,  so  it  is,  unless  Christ 
comes  in  and  fills  the  vacancy.  But  don't 
you  suppose  He  will,  or  would,  if  we  would 
let  Him  ?  '  I  will  come  unto  you,'  He  said 
to  the  Twelve,  when  they  were  going  to  lose 
a  friend  ;  as  if  that  was  enough.  Yes,  Annie, 
I  really  believe  if,  instead  of  shutting  our- 
selves into  our  sorrows  and  keeping  all  the 
light  of  heaven  out  of  our  souls,  we  opened 
them  to  receive  Him,  Christ  would  so  come 
to  us  that  the  season  of  our  deepest  grief 
and  anguish  would  become  one  of  the  rich- 
est and  most  precious  of  our  whole  lives 
I  believe  it  is  literally  true,  '  that  earth  hath 
no  sorrow  which  heaven  cannot  heal.'  " 

"  But,  oh,  Graham  !"  I  cried,  "  how  can 
vve  help  mourning  ?  It  may  be  selfish  ;  but 


144 


OUR   TWO  LIVES. 


if  a  piece  of  our  very  hearts  is  torn  away, 
it  must  bleed,  and  we  must  feel  the  agony. 
Say  what  you  will,  we  must  feel  it ;  and  I 
believe  it  was  meant  we  should.  Christ 
Himself  wept  when  Lazarus  died  ;  and  I'm 
sure  he  didn't  blame  Martha  and  Mary  for 
grieving  bitterly.  He  sympathized  in  their 
grief,  and  went  to  the  grave  with  them." 

"  Yes,  He  sympathized  most  tenderly, 
and  went  to  the  grave ;  but  it  was  to  bring 
their  brother  to  life.  And  is  not  that  just 
what  He  will  do  now  ?  He  will  go  to  the 
grave  with  us  as  tenderly  as  He  went  with 
them,  and  will  raise  our  dead  for  us,  saying, 
1  Whosoever  believeth  on  me  shall  never 
die.'  I  think,  too,  He  turns  and  asks  us  the 
same  question  He  asked  Martha  — '  Be- 
lievest  thou  this  ?'  Do  we  believe  it,  or  do 
we  still  cling  to  our  friends  as  dead  ?  If  we 
believe  it,  surely  it  will  do  much  to  turn  our 
grief  into  joy." 

"  But  we  want  the  bodily  presence  of  our 
friends,"  I  said.  "  We  want  to  see  them, 
to  hear  and  touch  them.  Believing  in  their 


OUR   TWO  LIVES.  145 

spiritual  existence  does  not  satisfy  us.  While 
we  are  in  the  body,  we  crave  more,  and 
can't  help  doing  it." 

"  Yes,  we  do  crave  the  visible  presence, 
and  can't  help  grieving  for  its  loss.  I  don't 
mean  to  say  there  is  no  sorrow  when  a 
friend  goes  out  from  our  sight — there  is, 
and  must  be  ;  but  I  think  genuine  faith  lifts 
us  above  the  bitterness  of  grief;  and  that  a 
sense  of  Christ's  living  presence  takes  away 
all  unbearable  loneliness,  even  when  we  are 
most  alone.  In  our  darkest  hours,  to  know 
that  our  lost  friend  is  still  living,  still  loving 
us,  still  ours,  in  the  highest  and  best  sense, 
must  be  unspeakably  consoling,  When 
Christ  was  to  be  no  more  visible  with  His 
disciples,  He  said  to  them :  '  If  I  go  not 
away,  the  Comforter  will  not  come  ;  but  if 
I  depart,  I  will  send  Him  unto  you  ;'  as  if 
the  removal  of  the  bodily  presence  was  ne- 
cessary to  their  receiving  the  higher  revela- 
tion of  the  spiritual  one.  May  not  this  be 
true  of  our  friends — may  there  not  be  a 
closer  nearness  after  death,  a  communion 
13 


146  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

of  spirit  with  spirit  more  precious  and  in- 
spiring than  even  the  old  bodily  one  ?" 

"  That  is  what  the  spiritualists  claim,"  1 
said. 

"  No ;  they  claim  much  more.  They 
claim  that  the  spirits  of  the  departed  take 
material  shape  and  appear  to  the  senses.  My 
idea  is  that  they  may  touch  our  souls  silently, 
even  as  the  Holy  Spirit  of  God  does,  not 
by  any  outward  sign  .or  sound,  but  by  an 
inspiring,  strengthening,  quickening  influ- 
ence, of  which  we  cannot  tell  whence  it 
cometh  or  whither  it  goeth  —  an  unseen, 
noiseless  message  sent  by  God  to  cheer  and 
comfort  us.  That  is  very  different  from 
one  that  is  rapped  up  by  a  medium.  I  have 
often  felt,  or  thought  I  felt,  my  mother's 
presence  in  this  way ;  and  the  touch  of  her 
spirit  on  my  spirit  has  thrilled  me  as  no 
earthly  touch  could;  and  perhaps  this  in- 
visible presence  has  done  as  much  for  me  as 
her  bodily  one  could — it  may  be  even  more." 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,"  I  said,  softly. 
"  I  don't  remember  my  mother,  but  I  idol- 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  ^7 

ized  my  father,  who  lived  till  I  was  almost 
twenty,  and  he  often  seems  very  near.  I 
felt  this  particularly  the  day  we  were  mar- 
ried. I  felt  almost  sure  he  was  close  by  me 
then,  sympathizing  and  approving.  And, 
oh !  it  was  such  a  comfort  to  believe  this ; 
and  I  don't  think  it  did  me  any  harm,  even 
it  was  only  a  fancy.  It  was  a  tender,  hal- 
lowed delight  I  felt,  for  which  I  could 
heartily  thank  God.  Dear  little  Bessie,  too, 
often  seems  very  near,  the  darling  !  I  won- 
der if  they  are  here — I  never  quite  dare 
believe  they  are.  I  think  the  Bible  would 
have  told  us,  if  it  were  so." 

"  There  is  nothing  in  the  Bible  to  contra- 
dict it,  so  far  as  I  know,"  said  Graham. 
"  It  certainly  shows  us  that  the  angels  are 
deeply  interested  in  our  affairs,  and  very 
ready  to  come  and  help  us  whenever  they 
are  needed  ;  and  we  can  hardly  believe  the 
spirits,  who  once  shared  all  our  earthly  ex- 
periences, can  be  less  interested  in  us  than 
they  are,  or  less  willing  to  aid  us.  'Are 
they  not  all  ministering  spirits  sent  forth 


148  OUR   TWO  LIVES. 

to  minister  for  them  who  shall  be  heirs  of 
salvation  ?'  It  does  not  strike  me  as  at  all 
at  variance  with  the  Scriptural  representa- 
tions, to  suppose  that  our  friends,  after  they 
have  gone  from  our  sight,  may  be  sent 
back  unseen  messengers  to  minister  to  our 
spiritual  progress." 

"  I  am  sure  they  must  want  to  come  and 
help  us,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,  they  must.  If  you  were  to  go  first, 
Annie,  you  would  be  glad  to  come  back  and 
minister  to  me,  I  know." 

"  Certainly  I  should,  if  I  might ;  and  so 
would  you." 

"  Yes,  dear ;  and  I  see  no  reason  why  it 
may  not  be  permitted;  but  we  know  too 
little  of  that  life  to  feel  quite  certain  about  it. 
It  is  a  thing  to  be  felt  rather  than  reasoned 
about.  Still,  if  this  consciousness  of  their 
nearness  is  felt  in  our  most  hallowed  mo- 
ments— if  it  deepens  our  holiest  convictions 
and  draws  us  closer  to  God  and  heaven—  I 
don't  knoiv  why  we  need  fear  to  accept  it 
as  a  truth.  * 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  I^Q 

"  It  would  certainly  make  our  life  a  far 
richer  one,"  I  said. 

"  Yes  ;  and  this  communion  may  be  a  dim 
foreshadowing  of  that  fuller  communion 
of  spirits  to  which  we  look  forward  in 
heaven." 

"  But  isn't  there  danger  of  its  lower- 
ing our  conception  of  heaven  ?"  I  asked. 
"  Should  we  not  think  of  that  as  the  place 
for  entire  and  perfect  communion  with  God 
Himself  rather  than  for  the  enjoyment  of 
earthly  friendships  ?" 

"  It  is  a  false  idea  that  the  two  conflict. 
I  believe  a  pure  earthly  friendship  leads  us 
to  God,  not  away  from  Him  ;  and  that  lov- 
ing and  ministering  to  friends  in  heaven 
would  not  lessen,  but  intensify,  the  fulness 
of  our  communion  with  Him.  We  have  no 
right  to  think  of  God  as  an  isolated  being, 
wrapt  up  in  the  contemplation  of  His  own 
perfections,  withdrawn  from  His  children 
for  perpetual  worship ;  for  such  is  not  the 
Bible  representation  of  Him.  '  Christ,'  as 
one  finely  says,  '  is  the  mind  of  God  expressing 
13* 


150  OUR    TWO   LIVES 

itself  ?  and  who  was  ever  so  considerate  of 
others  as  Christ,  so  entirely  devoted  to  serv- 
ing  them  ?  Doubtless  the  spirits  in  heaven 
that  are  fullest  of  adoration  are  fullest  o* 
activity  also,  and  are  going  somewhere  on 
errands  of  love  and  mercy.  Why  not 
sometimes  to  those  they  love  best  here  ?" 

"  You  have  no  doubt  they  do  still  love 
us  ?"  I  asked. 

" '  With  Christ,  and  like  Christ,  and  not 
.ove  our  friends ! '  as  Aunt  Katharine 
would  say.  Impossible !  when  He  loves 
them  so  tenderly.  No,  Annie  ;  going  into 
the  fuller  presence  of  Him  whose  very 
name  is  '  Love,'  can  never  make  our  hearts 
less  loving.  Never  fear  that ;  you  might 
as  well  expect  to  get  chilled  by  going  into 
the  sunshine." 

"  Of  course  we  shall  be  more  loving 
there,"  I  said  ;  "  I  do  not  doubt  that ;  but 
perhaps  we  may  find  new  objects  to  love, 
something  better  than  the  old  earthly  scenes 
and  friends." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Graham ;  "  but  I  don't 


OUR    TWO  LIVES  i$i 

imagine  the  new  love  will  cast  out  the  old. 
If  God  and  Christ  showed  no  interest  in 
us,  we  might  think  our  friends  would  lose 
theirs  ;  but  I  can't  believe  those  who  once 
loved  us  here  are  the  only  beings  in  heaven 
who  are  now  indifferent  to  us.  Or,  if  our 
love  belonged  only  to  our  bodies,  we  might 
expect  it  to  die  with  the  body;  but  it  is  a 
part  of  our  very  souls,  and  must  live  while 
they  live.  Why,  Annie,  next  to  my  love 
for  Christ,  my  love  for  you  is  the  most 
vital  part  of  my  being.  Do  you  suppose 
God  gave  it  to  me  to  last  only  for  a  few 
short  years,  and  then  die  out  ?  My  soul, 
without  that,  wouldn't  be  my  soul,  but  a 
very  different  one.  If  you  take  out  all  the 
affections  and  memory,  the  soul  would  be 
entirely  changed ;  and  everywhere  the  Bible, 
directly  or  by  implication,  teaches  that  we 
are  to  carry  our  individual  characters  with 
us,  and  makes  that  a  reason  for  our  perfect- 
ing- them  here.  The  same  traits  must  exist ; 
only  the*  good  in  us  will  be  constantly 
strengthening  and  expanding.  There  may 


l$2  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

be  a  love,  or  what  is  falsely  called  such,  that 
will  die  with  the  body ;  but  not  true,  gen- 
uine love  like  ours,  dearest." 

We  sat  silent  for  a  little  while,  thinking. 
Graham  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 

"  If  I  were  to  leave  you  for  a  little  while, 
Annie,  you  wouldn't  doubt  I  was  loving 
you  still?" 

"  No,  I  think  I  shouldn't ;  but" 1  could 

not  go  on.  "  If  he  ever  should  leave  me  !" 

"  Our  love  is  so  much  a  part  of  our  very 
life,"  he  said,  "  and  all  true  life  must  be  so 
much  more  intense  there,  that  I  feel  sure  all 
that  is  best  in  it  will  last  and  strengthen, 
and  that  I  shall  love  you  then  infinitely 
more,  with  a  pure  and  more  exalted  affec- 
tion, to  be  sure,  but  one  to  which  any 
earthly  love  is  poor  indeed.  Why,  to  ask 
if  our  love  shall  be  as  great  there  as  here  is 
like  asking  if  the  ocean  holds  as  much  water 
as  a  baby  tea-cup  !  One  of  the  most  pre- 
cious things  to  me  about  our  ^marriage, 
Annie,  was  that  God  had  given  us  to  one 
another  forever,  and  bound  us  by  a  tie  that 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  153 

nothing  could  sever ;  a  tie,  not  to  end  at  the 
grave,  but  which,  purified  and  hallowed, 
should  endure  throughout  our  whole  exist- 
ence." 

"  But  Christ  said,  "  In  the  resurrection 
they  neither  marry  nor  are  given  in  marri- 
age," I  said. 

"  Yes ;  but  he  was  speaking  to.  those  who 
took  the  low,  Eastern  view  of  marriage, 
regarding  it  as  a  mere  bodily  union  ;  and  he 
told  them  that  no  such  marriage  should  be 
in  the  resurrection — all  that  belongs  to  the 
senses  shall  be  done  away,  but  all  the  pure, 
spiritual,  sacred  part  shall  exist — all  that 
union  of  mind  and  soul  which  make  two 
one  in  every  true  marriage.  This  seems  to 
me  the  natural  rendering  of  this  passage; 
as  if  Christ  said,  '  No  such  marriage  as  you 
who  have  asked  me  this  question  are  think- 
ing of — marriage,  in  the  low,  sensual  use  of 
the  word — will  exist  in  the  resurrection,  but 
you  shall  be  spiritualized  beings  there,  like 
the  angels  of  God  !'  It  seems  to  me  that 
the  Bible  makes  marriage  a  much  more 


IJ4  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

sacred  thing  than  we  are  inclined  to.  It 
compares  the  union  of  husband  and  wife 
to  that  between  Christ  and  His  Church 
— one  of  the  closest  and  most  sacred  of 
all  unions  —  and  speaks  cf  them  as  what 
God  hath  joined  together ;  and,  to  my  mind, 
it  would  sadly  degrade  marriage  to  limit  it 
to  this  short  life.  In  the  larger  range  and 
more  loving  atmosphere  of  heaven,  it  must 
become  something  unspeakably  tender  and 
true !  Even  here,  hearts  grow  into  a  mar- 
vellous oneness  in  the  course  of  a  life-time. 
Why,  Annie,  if  we  live  to  our  golden  wed- 
ding, we  shall  have  so  grown  together,  a 
separation  would  be  well  nigh  impossible !" 
Our  golden  wedding !  There  is  some- 
thing very  tender  and  sweet  in  the  thought ; 
sweeter  yet  is  the  thought  of  the  eternal 
union.  We  certainly  have  become  more  and 
more  one  every  year  since  our  marriage. 
At  first,  we  puzzled  and  worried  each  other, 
as,  I  suppose,  all  young  couples  do,  more 
or  less ;  but  now  we  fully  understand  each 
other.  A  great  sorrow,  too,  brings  hearts 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  jjjjj 

very  near  together.  Yes,  if  we  were  to 
live  on  together  forty  years  longer  we 
should  become  very  much  one  in  spirit,  as 
Graham  says. 

But  whenever  one  is  taken,  I  trust  the 
other  will  not  be  long  left  behind.  I  told 
Graham  so,  and  he  said,  with  his  sweet 
smile,  "  That  must  be  as  God  pleases,  dar- 
ling." 

His  faith  is  so  much  stronger  than  mine, 
that  he  seems  never  to  fear  anything ;  and 
when  I  told  him  how  the  dread  that  I  might 
be  left  sometimes  haunted  me,  he  soothed 
me  by  many  sweet  words  of  love  and  faith, 
telling  me  if  I  ever  were  left  desolate,  the 
Comforter  would  surely  come  ;  and  remind- 
ing me  how,  when  Bessie  was  taken,  just 
the  strength  I  needed  was  given  me. 

Yes,  I  must  trust.  I  would  not  direct 
when  or  how  either  of  us  should  be  taken. 
It  would  be  a  sore,  sore  thing  to  be  left  be- 
hind ;  but  I  do  not  feel  like  saying.  "  I  could 
not  have  it  so — I  could  not  bear  it,"  as  I  did 
about  Bessie.  I  never  can  doubt  Christ 


I56 


OUR    TWO  LIVES. 


again  ;  He  was  so  merciful  to  me  when 
Bessie  died.  And  perhaps  heaven  may  not 
be  so  far  away  as  we  fancy  ;  and  that,  if  our 
eyes  were  not  holden,  we  should  see  angels 
ascending  and  descending,  and  blessed 
spirits  thronging  all  about  us. 

What  a  thing  it  would  make  of  life  to  be- 
lieve this ;  to  be  always  walking  amidst  a 
cloud  of  unseen  witnesses  !  How  softly  we 
should  step  !  But  we  know  the  Great  Spirit 
is  always  near  ;  and  shall  we  not  walk  still 
more  softly  before  Him  ? 

Yes,  we  are  on  hallowed  ground  wherever 
we  tread,  and  what  manner  of  persons, 
therefore,  ought  we  to  be  ! 


Dear  Aunt  Katharine's  kindness  has  out- 
lived her  earthly  presence,  and  she  has  left 
to  me — only  think  of  it,  to  me — all  she  had  ; 
not  a  large  fortune,  but  a  large  addition  to 
our  former  means.  We  had  all  that  was 
really  necessary  before,  but  certain  enjoy. 

\ 


OUR   TWO  LIVES.  ^7 

ments,  perhaps  I  should  call  them  luxuries, 
are  now  at  our  command  ;  for  example, 
traveling  a  little.  We  have  never  felt  able 
to  take  a  journey  ;  and,  of  course,  our  souls 
have  longed  for  the  White  Mountains  and 
Niagara  ;  and  this  year,  Graham  thinks  we 
can  go  to  both,  leaving  little  Laura  at  her 
Aunt's,  who  will  board  her.  Hard  as  a 
separation  of  a  few  weeks  from  her  will  be 
she  will  be  kindly  cared  for  there,  and  no 
real  harm  can  come  to  her. 


Long,  long  will  October,  18 — ,  be  remem- 
bered by  us ;  for  never  before,  I  verily  be- 
lieve, did  two  mortal  beings  crowd  so  much 
intense  enjoyment  into  three  short  weeks  as 
we  have  —  three  weeks  being  the  longest 
time  Graham  could  be  away  from  his  busi- 
ness. 

Those  "  everlasting  hills !"  How  our 
souls  seemed  to  expand,  and  go  outward 
and  upward,  as  we  gazed  on  their  grand 
14 


158  OUR    TWO  LIVE*. 

outlines  ;  with  what  awe  and  reverence  we 
stood  beneath  their  mysterious  shadows, 
gazing  at  them, 

"  Till  the  dilating  s<J  il,  enwrapt,  transfused, 
Into  the  mighty  vision  passing — there 
As  in  her  natural  form  swelled  vast  to  heaven." 

I  think  I  never  worshipped  as  I  worship- 
ped there,  with  such  lowly  prostration  of 
spirit,  such  an  uplifting  and  ennobling  sense 
of  God's  majesty,  power  and  glory.  And 
to  think  that  this  God,  so  glorious  in 
strength,  so  wonderful  in  working  is  our 
God! 

I  could  have  stayed  among  those  grand 
old  mountains  forever, 

"And  sat,  and  sung  myself  away 
To  everlasting  bliss." 

But  we  had  to  leave  them  in  ten  days; 
though,  in  a  sense,  I  brought  them  away 
with  me;  aid  they  are, and  always  must  be, 
a  part  of  my  very  being ;  a  possession 


OUR   TWO  LIVES.  !59 

which  no  sorrow,  or  suffering,  or  change  in 
the  future  can  ever  take  away  from  me. 

I  told  Graham  I  could  better  understand 
now  why  he  thought  a  knowledge  of  God's 
works  would  form  a  part  of  the  joy  of 
heaven,  so  directly  do  such  grand  scenes 
lead  us  up  to  God  in  purer  adoration — 
that  is,  when  the  soul  is  attuned  to  such 
surroundings.  We  saw  gay,  chattering,  in- 
different people,  who  evidently  were  think- 
ing more  of  themselves  than  the  scenery ; 
and  what  a  profanation  it  seemed  in  such  a 
place,  and  how  I  pitied  them  !  Not  to 
think  high  thoughts  in  such  high  places 
argues  poverty  of  soul  indeed. 

Niagara,  too,  was  wonderful  and  magni- 
ficent, but  had  not  for  me  the  same  enchant- 
ment as  the  mountains.  Besides  these  grand 
points,  how  many  lovely  meadows,  spark- 
ling streams,  blooming  villages,  and  pictur- 
esque hill-sides,  glowing  with  the  autumnal 
radiance,  have  we  beheld  !  And  now  that 
we  are  at  home  once  more,  that,  too,  looks 
most  beautiful  and  charming.  Little  Laura 


!6o  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

is  well,  and  so  overjoyed  to  have  us  back 
again,  that  she  cannot  sing  enough,  or,  in 
any  way,  sufficiently  manifest  her  ecstacy. 
Oh  !  how  full  of  beauty  and  joy  the  whole 
world  is ! 

So  many  different  kinds  of  enjoyment, 
too.  I  do  not  know  as  anything  in  my 
whole  journey  gave  me  a  more  exquisite 
thrill  of  delight  than  our  meeting  with 
Laura,  and  her  raptures  over  us  on  our 
return. 

The  other  night,  we  were  trying  to  sum 
up  all  we  had  enjoyed. 

"And  only  to  think,  Graham,  "  I  said, 
that  money  can  bring  all  this  —  that  a  few 
dollars  and  cents  has  given  us  all  this  wealth 
of  vision  and  these  glorious  memories  !" 

"  Money  didn't  give  it,"  he  said.  "  That 
girl,  who  sat  adjusting  the  feather  in  her  hat 
in  the  most  splendid  spot  for  a  view  in  all 
the  mountains,  didn't  get  it.  She  saw 
exactly  what  she  would  at  home,  herself 
and  her  clothes,  and  she  paid  just  as  much 
money  as  we  did." 


OUR    TWO   LIVES.  161 

"  The  investment  brought  better  returns 
in  our  case  than  her's,  I  admit,"  I  said 
laughing.  "  But  then  we  couldn't  have  had 
the  mountains  without  the  money. 

"No,  we  couldn't.  Money  is  good  as  a 
means ;  but  alone,  it  doesn't  amount  to 
much.  But  I  see  the  little  wife  is  getting 
quite  set  up  by  her  new  wealth  ;  I  fear  it's 
going  to  turn  her  head  entirely.  See  how 
she  gives  herself  airs,  and  plans  for  flower- 
gardens  and  conservatories,  and  I  don't 
know  what  other  extravagances !" 

"  Yes,"  I  said  ;  "  she  can  hardly  sleep  for 
planning.  She's  ambitious  to  go  to  Europe, 
now  ;  and  was  just  thinking,  if  a  few  hun- 
dred dollars  would  buy  Mount  Blanc,  what 
a  capital  bargain  it  would  be  !" 

Holding  up  his  hands,  in  pretended  hor- 
ror, he  exclaimed,  "  Well !  after  Europe, 
what  ?" 

"A  little  trip  to  Palestine,  if  you  please ; 
and  then " 

What  then,  I  don't  know,  for  a  poor 
widow  woman,  with  fhe  small  children 


1 62  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

came  in  and  set  me  to  thinking  how  little 
some  people  have  to  enjoy  in  this  world, 
while  others  have  so  much  ! 

We  have  many  serious  talks  about  the  best 
investment  for  our  little  fortune.  It  shall 
not  all  go  to  increase  our  pleasures,  that  we 
are  determined  on.  We  shall  not  revel  in 
ease  and  luxury  without  considering  those 
who  have  scarcely  bread  to  eat,  and  who 
are  our  own  brothers  and  sisters — children 
of  the  same  great  Father. 

Sometimes  I  feel  that  pretty  much  all 
ought  to  go  to  them  ;  it  certainly  is  a  trust- 
fund  ;  both  Graham  and  I  so  regard  it. 

It  touched  my  heart  inexpressibly  that 
Aunt  Katharine  should  have  shown  such 
trust  in  me ;  and  I  do  not  want  the  gift 
should  "  bring  a  snare"  or  burden  my  heart ; 
I  want  it  should  make  me  grateful,  loving, 
and  compassionate  toward  every  suffering 
human  being  within  my  reach.  I  desire  to 
spend  every  cent  of  it  as  I  think  Christ 
would  wish  me  to.  Some  enjoyments,  like 
our  journey,  I  believe  it  is  right  to  have ; 


OUR    TWO  LIVES. 


163 


and  it  is  pleasant  to  feel  able  to  give  Laura 
a  thorough  musical  education,  and  to  know 
she  will  be  provided  for,  if  she  outlives  us; 
but  we  will  not  forget  the  poor — we  want 
our  heaven  to  be  beginning  on  earth  ;  to  be 
even  here,  "  with  Christ  and  like  Christ,"  in 
lowly  ministries  of  love  to  all  whom  we 
have  power  to  bless. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

NEARLY  ten  years  have  passed  since 
I  wrote  here  last ; — years  of  change, 
of  bitter  agony  and  pain,  of  unutterable 
peace  and  joy.  That  I  should  live  to 
write  myself  a  widow  and  speak  of  peace 
and  joy  in  the  same  breath  !  Yes,  alone 
in  the  world,  with  all  I  loved  best  gone 
from  my  sight,  I  am  truly  peaceful,  yea 
more,  I  am  truly  happy.  Yet  with  what 
a  different  happiness  from  that  I  once 
enjoyed ! 

I  cannot  dwell  9n  these  years  —  cannot 
voluntarily  summon  back  the  pain.  My  hus- 
band, my  pride  and  strength,  on  whose 
manly  breast  I  leaned  without  a  fear,  who 
was  all  a  husband  possibly  could  be — brave, 
pure,  large-hearted,  conscientious,  consider- 
(164) 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  ^5 

ate  and  tender,  whom  I  passionately  loved, 
if  not  idolized,  was  taken  from  me,  not  sud- 
denly, but  by  a  slow,  lingering  illness  which 
mercifully  prepared  us  for  the  separation. 
The  terrible  alternations  of  hope  and  de- 
spair, of  rebellious  struggling  against  what 
I  saw  God  was  going  to  do,  and  of  submis- 
sion to  His  will — all  these  my  dear  husband 
helped  me  to  pass  through,  bearing  me  up 
on  the  wings  of  his  own  strong  faith,  till  I, 
too,  could  look  on  death  as  a  more  glorious 
life,  and  something  to  be  desired  rather  than 
dreaded.  When  I  could  not  only  believe 
but  feel  this,  I  saw  how  utterly  selfish  it  was 
to  wish  to  keep  him  here,  and  I  prayed 
day  and  night  that  I  might  love  him  better 
than  myself. 

When  I  found,  too,  that  if  prolonged,  his 
life  must  be  one  of  physical  suffering,  I 
could  not  desire  that  for  my  sake  he  should 
endure  it ,  no,  I  loved  him  too  truly  for  that. 

The  first  weeks  after  I  knew  that  his  dis- 
ease was  incurable,  were  weeks  of  the  sorest 
agony ;  to  know  he  could  be  happy  away 


1 66  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

from  me,  even  in  heaven,  was  itself  bitter- 
ness— that  a  time  would  come  when  I  should 
be  powerless  to  soothe  or  aid  him,  or  even 
to  know  where  he  was  or  what  he  was  do- 
ing— the  very  thought  of  it  was  unendur- 
able anguish ;  but  it  was  a  selfish  anguish, 
and  in  time  God  lifted  me  above  it.  At 
first,  any  allusion  to  our  separation  com- 
pletely overpowered  me  ;  but  when  I  saw 
how  this  pained  him,  and  how  he  wished  to 
talk  as  frankly  on  this  as  we  had  on  all  other 
subjects,  I  made  a  great  effort  to  overcome 
all  agitation,  and  succeeded  so  well,  that  we 
at  length  talked  of  his  dying  as  calmly  as  if 
he  were  going  away  on  any  other  journey. 
It  has  since  been  an  unspeakable  satisfaction 
to  me  that  we  could ;  that  I  could  go  hand- 
in-hand  with  him  to  the  very  brink  of  the 
river,  sharing  every  thought  and  feeling. 

He  had  peaceful  intervals,  when,  for  days, 
or  even  weeks,  he  was  almost  well  in  ap- 
pearance, entirely  his  own  self  so  far  as 
clearness  and  activity  of  mind  were  con- 
cerned, though  he  was  not  strong  enough 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  ify 

for  professional  work,  and  so  we  had  leisure 
for  long  talks  on  all  that  was  dearest  to  our 
hearts,  and  those  blessed  communings  were 
by  far  the  most  precious  of  our  whole  life; 
for  he  was  always  cheerful,  looking  forward 
to  the  future  with  a  faith  undimmed  by  a 
single  doubt  or  fear.  These  intervals  would 
be  succeeded  by  paroxysms  of  intense  suffer- 
ing— yielding  to  remedies — but,  as  we  both 
knew,  sure  to  come  back  again,  and  finally 
to  end  the  precious  life  so  dear  to  me. 

I  often  wondered  that  he  had  no  doubts 
about  his  future ;  indeed  I  was  sometimes 
half  troubled  by  it.  I  told  him  so,  for  we 
kept  back  nothing  from  each  other — and 
that  was  such  a  blessed  thing — he  lay  and 
thought  awhile  before  replying. 

"  It  would  be  presumptuous,"  he  said,  "  if 
my  hope  rested  on  anything  I  had  done, 
but  it  rests  wholly  on  Christ's  promises— it 
can't  be  wrong  to  believe  what  He  has  said. 
He  has  promised  to  save  all  who  come  to 
Him — all  who  believe  on  Him.  The  pas- 
sages are  almost  numberless  in  which  He 


1 68  OUR   TWO  LIVES. 

promises  this.  I  know  I  can  only  reach 
heaven  as  a  pardoned  sinner;  but,  Annie, 
Christ  came  to  save  sinners — that  is  His 
great  work,  the  thing  He  lived  and  died  and 
ascended  to  heaven  for,  and  it  can't  honor 
Him  to  doubt  whether  or  not  He  will  ac- 
complish it !  '  He  that  cometh  to  me  shall 
be  saved.'  '  He  that  hath  me  hath  eternal 
life.'  Why  should  I  have  a  doubt,  dear?" 

"  Can  we  be  positively  certain  our  faith  is 
of  the  right  kind,"  I  asked,  "  that  we  really 
have  come  to  Him  aright?" 

"  I  must  use  my  reason  and  common  sense 
in  this,  Annie,  as  in  other  matters.  Faith 
is  made  the  condition  of  salvation,  for  faith 
unites  us  to  Christ  and  makes  Him  real  and 
personal  to  us.  So  far  as  I  can  judge,  I 
have  thus  believed  in  Him,  sincerely  conse- 
crating myself  to  His  service  and  desiring 
to  be  His  obedient  child. 

"  And,"  he  added,  "  He  has  revealed  him- 
self so  clearly  to  me,  in  the  very  depths  of 
my  being,  as  my  helper,  my  guide,  my  re- 
deemer; so  perfectly  does  ray  experience 


OUR   TWO  LIVES.  x6g 

confirm  the  written  word,  that  I  can  no  more 
doubt  it  than  I  can  doubt  my  own  existence." 

At  another  time  he  said, — 

"  When  I  look  only  at  myself — my  impu- 
rity, my  selfishness,  my  want  of  conformity 
to  God's  perfect  law  of  love ;  at  all  my  sins 
of  deed,  word  and  thought,  I  am  over- 
whelmed, I  cry  '  unclean — unclean.'  I  can- 
not endure  it — but  shall  I  therefore  despair  ? 
'This  is  a  faithful  saying  and  worthy  of 
all  acceptation,  that  Christ  Jesus  came  into 
the  world  to  save  sinners:  of  whom  I  am 
chief.'  This  is  my  hope  and  comfort ;  if  I 
were  to  live  fifty  years  longer,  I  have  no 
idea  I  should  be  any  more  fitted  to  enter 
Leaven ;  it  must  always  be  that  1  shall  be 
carried  in  by  the  Good  Shepherd  a  poor, 
torn,  defiled  wanderer,  whom  He  has  res- 
cued by  His  mighty  power — I  want  to  let 
Him  carry  me  in — I  want  to  lie  close  to  His 
breast  without  one  fear." 

I  felt  that  he  was  right ;  that  but  for  the 
imperfection  of  my  faith,  my  vision  would 
be  equally  clear  and  elevating. 


170  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

"  Darling,"  he  added — he  almost  always 
called  me  darling  in  those  days — "  when  I 
am  gone,  you  musn't  let  any  shadow  of  un- 
belief keep  you  from  entering  fully  into  the 
joy  God  offers  his  children ;  you  must  open 
your  heart  and  let  the  King  of  Glory  in; 
you  will,  I  know ;  you  will  be  comforted  by 
the  great  Comforter ;  He  will  teach  you  all 
things ;  and  oh  !  what  blessed  things  He  can 
teach  !  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  you  as  liv- 
ing a  sorrowful  life  here,  while  I  am  re- 
joicing; I  think  it  will  sadden  me  if  you  do, 
darling — sadden  me,  even  in  heaven." 

"  If  we  could  only  go  together,"  I  mur- 
mured. 

"  It  would  be  delightful ;  but  if  God  has 
something  more  for  you  to  do  here,  and  will 
strengthen  you  to  do  it,  you  will  not  be  un- 
willing to  stay,  Annie?  It  will  only  be  a 
little  while  at  the  longest,  only  a  little  while, 
and  then  eternity  together  !" 

Often,  very  often,  I  craved  assurances  that 
he  would  still  love  me  ;  and  often,  very  often, 
he  gave  them. 


OUR   TWO  LIVES..  iji 

"It  cannot  be,"  he  wou.d  say,  "that  I 
shall  be  changed  into  somebody  else,  then, 
or  lose  all  that  constitutes  the  me ;  I  must 
be  Graham  Kingston  still,  in  all  but  the  out- 
side garment,  which  will  be  laid  aside,  be- 
cause no  longer  needed  ;  my  love  for  you  is 
a  part  of  my  very  being,  and  it  must  last 
while  my  being  lasts,  only  purified  from 
whatever  has  been  low  or  earthly.  In  all 
these  years,  next  to  my  love  to  God,  it  has 
been  the  purest  affection  of  my  soul,  and  if 
anything  survives  death,  that  must." 

"  And  if  you  can  come  and  help  me,  you 
will,"  I  said. 

"Surely,  I  will;  you  cannot  doubt  it, 
dear." 

"But  you  will  have  progressed  so  far  be- 
yond me,"  I  said,"  "  will  be  so  much  purer 
and  holier  than  I,  that  that  alone  will  sepa- 
rate us.  You  will  be  sinless,  and  I  shall  al 
ways  be  doing  wrong." 

"  I  think  that  is  a  wrong  conception  of 
holiness,"  he  said,  "the  holier  one  is  the 
moie  forbearing  and  loving  he  is;  the  more 


J72  OUR    TWO  LIVES, 

tender  and  patient  and  anxious  to  help  oth- 
ers in  every  way.  Think  how  forbearing 
and  loving  Christ  is  when  we  do  wrong ; 
and  there,  we  are  to  be  like  Him,  you 
know." 

At  one  time  and  another  we  spoke  of  al- 
most everything  in  connection  with  my 
future,  as  well  as  his,  for  he  seemed  to  long 
to  shield  me  as  far  as  possible  from  all  care 
and  suffering.  Of  course,  I  should  always 
keep  Laura  with  me,  and  we  both  felt  that 
she  would  prove  a  dear  little  companion 
and  comforter.  My  surest  safeguard  against 
grief,  we  both  knew,  would  be  in  active  oc~ 
cupation,  and  in  going  out  of  myself  for 
others,  in  some  form  ;  and  we  planned  ways 
for  my  doing  this ;  but  much  had  to  be  left 
for  circumstances  to  decide.  It  was  settled 
that  I  should  ask  Mary  Sterling  to  come 
and  live  with  me ;  she  had  no  home  ;  we 
both  loved  her  like  a  sister,  and  her  affection 
for  Graham  was  so  great  it  would  be  a 
bond  of  union,  all  the  stronger  after  he  was 
gone. 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  173 

"Yes,  activity,  occupation,  is  the  great 
secret  of  worthy  and  contented  living,"  he 
said,  one  day,  "  and  I  can't  imagine  who 
first  conceived  the  idea  of  heaven  as  a  place 
for  standing  still  in ;  some  poor,  tired  soul, 
probably,  to  whom  mere  rest  was  the  high- 
est ideal  of  bliss ;  but  the  glowing  descrip- 
tions of  the  Bible  never  convey  any  such 
idea — there,  every  word  seems  to  quiver 
with  an  intensity  of  life  and  glory.  When  I 
heard  Handel's  "  Messiah,"  I  got  a  new  con- 
ception of  what  music  and  worship  might 
be  in  the  next  world  ;  as  that  great  volume 
of  harmony  rolled  out  in  grander  and 
grander  surges,  my  spirit,  rapt  and  trem- 
bling, seemed  to  float  upward  in  an  ecstasy 
of  love  and  praise  and  worship.  All  the 
littleness  of  self  was  lost ;  my  whole  being 
seemed  kindled,  melted,  fused  into  the  infi- 
nite— upborne  to  the  very  throne  of  God, 
and  yet  cast  down  in  the  depth  of  self- 
abasement  and  humility.  Oh !  it  was  rap- 
ture, ecstasy,  unutterable,  indescribable ! 
I  have  always  hoped  you  and  I,  darling. 


!74  OUR   TWO   LIVES. 

might  hear  it  together  some  day;  but  we 
shall  near  it  more  gloriously  rendered  in 
heaven.  Whatever  the  art  of  a  Handel  or 
Mozart,  an  Angelo  or  a  Raphael  may  have 
accomplished  on  earth,  must  be  but  the 
mere  germ  of  what  will  be  developed  there  ; 
for  God  created  the  mind  of  a  Handel  and 
a  Raphael,  and  has  Himself  all  the  resources 
from  which  art,  purified  and  developed, 
shall  draw  throughout  all  eternity — Himself 
being  the  great  inspiration  and  rewarder !" 
He  lay  silent  a  moment,  and  said, — 
"  Don't  be  troubled,  dear,  that  I  wander 
off  into  these  speculations ;  I  never  forget 
that  Christ  is  the  centre  and  source,  the  life 
and  glory  of  all ;  and  that  to  be  without  one 
spot  or  stain  of  sin,  to  be  pure  as  He  is 
pure,  holy  as  He  is  holy,  is  the  crowning 
joy  and  glory  of  heaven.  I  long  for  intel- 
lectual expansion  but  still  more  do  I  yearn 
for  the  spiritual  unfolding  into  Christ's  own 
image  of  infinite  love  and  purity,  which  I 
hope  for  there.  As  you  say,  our  spiritual 
nature  is  our  highest,  and  its  perfection  far 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  ^5 

more  to  be  coveted  than  that  of  the  merely 
intellectual ;  but  I  believe  it  is  the  union 
and  harmony  of  the  two  which  constitutes 
the  fullest  perfection  in  that  higher  life.  We 
are  made  both  rational  and  spiritual  beings, 
with  capacities  for  indefinite  expansion  in 
both  lives — in  all  lives. 

"  Whatever  pursuit  or  taste  is  elevating 
and  pure,  a  blessing  to  ourselves  and  others, 
we  cannot  doubt  will  be  enlarged  and  per- 
fected there  ;  and  oh,  to  what  wonderful, 
glorious  heights  a  whole  eternity  will  bring 
us !  If  the  attainments  of  some  even  here 
seem  marvellous,  what  shall  we  behold 
there  !  It  is  this  wonderful  capacity  for  de- 
velopment which  makes  a  human  soul  worth 
so  much.  When  a  man  with  all  these  glo- 
rious possibilities  before  him  persists  in 
yielding  to  his  lower  propensities,  and  de- 
grading himself  by  self-indulgence  and  sin, 
he  ruins  not  only  what  he  is,  but  what  he 
might  be — endless  ages  hence.  His  soul 
clogged,  imbruted,  narrowed  down  to  low 
aims,  cannot  rise  to  a  glorious  immortality 


176  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

he  has  kept  himself  away  from  it.  If  there 
were  no  revelation  of  future  evil  to  such  a 
soul,  we  should  see  how  inevitable  its  ruin 
was." 

In  those  days  we  felt  greatly  distressed 
for  a  young  man  who,  by  nature  bright  and 
promising,  had  become  profligate,  and  so 
vilely  intemperate  as  to  be  really  imbruted 
in  both  body  and  soul.  Graham  had  labor- 
ed with  him  incessantly,  taking  him  into  his 
own  office  at  one  time,  in  the  hope  of  rescu- 
ing him,  and  by  love  and  patient  watching 
had  borne  with  him  month  after  month,  till 
finally,  just  as  Graham  was  lying  on  the 
border-land,  peacefully  waiting  for  his  sum- 
mons, he  was  killed  in  a  drunken  brawl.  It 
was  very  painful — very  hard  to  bear.  To 
think  of  what  he  might  have  been,  and  of 
what  he  was ! 

"  We  dare  not  follow  him  into  the  future,' 
said  Graham,  "  his  spirit  has  gone  to  God 
who  gave  it,  and  there  we  must  leave  him." 

Yes,  there  we  must  leave  him  ;  but  one 
text  kept  ringing  in  my  e  ar — "  he  hath  gone 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  ijj 

to  his  own  place ;"  and  I  dared  not  ask  my- 
self, "  was  that  among  the  pure  and  holy 
ones  ?" 

It  is  so  comforting  to  know  that  an  infi- 
nitely wise  and  holy  and  loving  God  is  to 
judge  us — He  who  knows  all  our  tempta- 
tions, all  our  surroundings,  all  the  inmost 
secrets  of  our  lives,  and  can  do  nothing 
wrong  !  Yes,  we  must  leave  the  poor,  mis- 
guided, sinning  ones  in  His  hands ;  we 
could  not  wish  to  leave  them  anywhere  else, 
nor  to  take  upon  ourselves  the  prerogative 
of  judging  them. 

But  my  beloved  one  was  not  a  wreck  ;  he 
had  not  turned  away  from  the  call  to  be 
Christ's  disciple  but,  yielding  to  the  Holy 
Spirit's  influence,  he  had  been  led,  step  by 
step,  till  here  he  now  lay,  waiting  for  the 
voice  that  should  say,  "  Come  up  higher." 
Before  him  opened  out  indescribable,  incon- 
ceivable light  and  progress ;  ineffable  joy 
and  glory !  There  were  moments  when, 
lifted  out  of  self,  I  could  heartily  give  God 
thanks  for  this,  not  repining  that  I  was  to 


178  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

11  a  little  longer  wait"  to  be  disciplined  and 
chastened  and  made  meet  for  the  Master's 
coming.  But  alas!  there  were  other  mo- 
ments when  my  faith  was  weak  and  my 
poor  heart  sorely  oppressed  by  his  suffer- 
ings. Why  was  it  necessary  he  should  en- 
dure so  much  physical  pain  ? — it  surely  was 
not  needed  to  prepare  him  for  heaven  ;  an^ 
those  racking  tortures  were  not  preparing 
him,  so  far  as  I  could  see ;  the  whole  subject 
of  physical  pain  was  a  mystery  to  me ;  was 
it  a  direct  infliction  from  God,  or  caused  by 
the  neglect  or  violation  of  some  physical 
law  ?  It  greatly  distressed  me  ;  but  Graham 
was  never  disturbed  by  it  for  a  moment. 

"  '  The  cup  which  my  Father  hath  given 
me,  shall  I  not  drink  it  ?' "  he  asked,  with  a 
smile  illuminating  his  whole  face;  "what- 
ever the  cause  is,  some  good  is  to  be  the  re- 
sult. I  never  doubt  that  for  an  instant ;  we 
do  not  see  what  it  is,  but  haven't  we  faith 
enough  in  our  dear  Lord  to  trust  Him  with- 
out seeing?  I  think  He  likes  that  kind  of 
trust.  Annie." 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  179 

At  another  time  he  said,  after  a  spasm  of 
pain, — 

"  He  helps  me  bear  it — I  feel  Him  so  near 
at  such  times,  it  is  worth  suffering  for ;  it  is 
not  so  hard  to  bear ;  not  so  fearful  as  you 
think,  with  Him  near ;  nothing  is  hard 
then." 

He  liked  me  to  read  hymns  to  him 
in  those  days  —  especially  one  of  Miss 
Warmg's  he  wanted  me  to  repeat  over  and 
over;  "it  always  rests  me,"  he  would 
say. 

"  Go  not  far  from  me,  O  my  Strength, 

The  light  of  all  my  day ; 
Take  from  me  anything  Thou  wilt, 

But  go  not  Thou  away — 
Then  let  the  storm  that  does  Thy  work, 

Deal  with  me  as  it  may. 
t 

"  On  Thy  compassion  I  repose, 

In  weakness  and  distress, 
I  will  not  ask  for  greater  ease, 

Lest  I  should  love  Thee  less ; 
Oh,  'tis  a  blessed  thing  for  me 
To  need  Thy  tenderness. 


ISO  OUR    TWO   LIVES. 

"  When  I  am  feeble  as  a  child, 
And  flesh  and  heart  give  way,' 

Then  on  Thy  everlasting  strength 
With  clinging  trust  I  stay  ; 

And  the  rough  wind  becomes  a  song. 
The  darkness  shines  like  day. 

"  There  is  no  death  for  me  to  fear, 
For  Christ,  my  Lord,  hath  died ; 

There  is  no  curse  in  this  my  pain, 
For  He  was  crucified ; 

And  it  is  fellowship  with  Him 
That  keeps  me  near  His  side. 

"  Safe  in  Thy  sanctifying  grace, 

Almighty  to  restore ; 
Borne  onward — sin  and  death  behind, 

And  love  and  light  before; 
Oh  let  my  soul  abound  in  hope, 

And  praise  Thee  more  and  more  !" 

There  was  another  little  piece  he  liked  me 
often  to  sing,  partly  because  the  tune  was 
one  we  both  enjoyed ;  little  Laura's  child- 
voice  would  join  in  it,  and  it  was  very 
touching  to  hear  its  soft,  sweet  notes, 
singing, — 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  jgl 

'  They  are  gathering  homeward  from  every  land. 

One  by  one, 
As  their  weary  feet  touch  the  shining  strand, 

One  by  one, 

Their  brows  are  wreathed  with  a  fadeless  crown, 
Their  travel-stained  garments  are  all  laid  down, 
And  clothed  in  white  raiment  they  rest  on  the 

mead, 
Where  the  Lamb  loveth  His  chosen  to  feed, 

One  by  one. 

"  Before  they  rest,  they  pass  through  the  strife, 

One  by  one ; 
Through  the  waters  of  death  they  enter  life, 

One  by  one ; 

To  some,  the  floods  of  the  river  are  still 
As  they   ford   on   their  way  to   the  heavenly 

hill, 

To  others,  the  waves  run  fierce  and  wild, — 
Yet  all  reach  the  home  of  the  undefiled, 

One  by  one. 


"  We,  too,  shall  come  to  the  river-side, 

One  by  one ; 
We  are  nearer  its  waters  each  eventide, 

One  by  one ; 

We  can  hear  the  noise  and  dash  of  the  stream 
As  we  bend  to  listen  'mid  life's  deep  dream ; 
16 


182  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

Sometimes,  the  floods  all  the  bank  o'erflow, 
Sometimes,  in  ripples  the  small  waves  go, 
One  by  one." 

But  the  one  he  was  sure  to  ask  for  before 
I  was  through,  was,  "  Just  as  I  am," — espe- 
cially was  this  verse  perpetually  on  his  lips  : 

"  Just  as  I  am — Thou  wilt  receive, 
Wilt  welcome,  pardon,  cleanse,  relieve, 
Because  Thy  promise  I  believe, 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come." 

And  when  he  was  tired  even  of  hymns, 
some  passage  of  the  Bible  would  bring  the 
light  into  his  eyes.  One  day  near  the  last, 
he  said — 

"  I  want  only  the  pure  word  now,  An- 
nie." 

If  ever  there  was  a  little  angel  of  mercy 
in  a  sick-room,  Laura  was  one ;  only  six 
years  old,  one  would  not  suppose  she  could 
have  done  much,  but  her  delicate  ear  was 
the  first  to  detect  every  wish,  and  her  noise- 
less little  feet  the  quickest  to  supply  it. 
And  she  was  so  happy  always;  to  sit  on 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  ^3 

the  bed,  if  Graham  was  lying  there,  to  pass 
her  little  soft  hands  over  his  forehead,  to 
twine  his  curls  round  her  fingers,  to  repeat 
little  snatches  of  songs  and  hymns,  of  which 
she  had  a  marvellous  store,  was  a  never- 
failing  delight  to  her,  and  always  soothing 
to  the  invalid ;  she  seemed  to  have  a  sixth 
sense,  by  which  she  divined  exactly  what 
woulcl  please  him  ;  and  while  he  slept  she 
would  keep  watch,  perched  on  the  counter- 
pane, with  her  finger  lifted  to  her  lips  if  any 
one  entered,  a  perfect  little  image  of  devo- 
tion, so  silent,  so  alert,  so  ready  to  spring  at 
any  signal.  And  when  my  heart  was  aching 
sorest,  to  press  her  to  my  bosom,  to  feel  her 
arms  round  my  neck  and  hear  her  soft,  lov- 
ing voice,  was  more  comforting  than  I  can 
tell.  It  is  so  sweet  to  be  loved  by  a  child 
when  your  heart  is  breaking  ! 

Mary  Sterling  came  to  me,  too,  with  her 
large,  noble  heart,  and  her  wisdom  and 
courage,  and  was  an  inestimable  blessing  to 
us  both.  I  turned  to  and  rested  on  her  as  a 
dear"  sister,  and  I  know  she  was  glad  to 


1 84  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

come ;  so  it  was  all  heart-service  in  the  sick- 
room ;  even  his  physician  was  a  personal 
friend,  glad  to  come  at  all  hours  and  minis- 
ter to  him  in  any  and  every  way. 

"  Yes,  those  fifteen  months  were  full  of 
blessings,  and  as  the  chiefest  one  we  felt 
that  Christ  himself  became  more  and  more 
a  living  Presence,  actual  and  dear.  More 
and  more  heartily  could  I  pray,  "  0  my 
Father,  if  this  cup  may  not  pass  away  from 
me  except  I  drink  it,  Thy  will  be  done."  He 
alone  knew  how  bitter  it  was,  how  I  had 
shrunk  back  from  tasting  it,  and  He  alone 
could  enable  me  to  drink  it. 

As  I  have  said,  those  last  communings 
with  my  beloved  one  were  the  most  pre- 
cious that  had  gone  before,  and  I  have  no 
fear  that  those  to  come  will  not  be  still  more 
rich  and  satisfactory ;  for  I  believe  the  office 
of  all  pure,  God-given  love  is  not  merely  to 
bind  human  souls  together  in  a  blissrul 
union,  but  to  draw  both  upward  to  the  eter- 
nal, all-satisfying  Love.  Almost  one  of  the 
last  of  Graham's  utterances  was,  "  Thank 


OLTK    TWO   LIVES.  [85 

God,  our  love  goes  on  forever;" — the  very 
last,  "  Not  death,  but  life — LIFE." 

I  wonder  what  these  eight  years  in  heaven 
have  brought  him  ;  I  wonder  if  he  does  not] 
sometimes  long  to  tell  me — but  I  can  wait; 
I  know  that  all  is  right — often  he  seems  very 
near  to  me ;  almost  always  I  turn  to  him  as 
if  he  were  understanding  my  thought  and 
sympathizing  with  it ;  but  I  dare  not  dwell 
too  much  on  this.  I  'like  best  to  dwell  on 
what  I  know — that  he  is  with  Christ  and 
like  Christ,  being  expanded  and  developed 
in  God's  own  way — the  best  way ;  and  that 
Christ  is  with  me,  helping  my  infirmities, 
and  striving  to  bring  out  more  and  more  of 
His  glorious  image  in  my  heart.  He  wants 
me  and  Graham  wants  me  to  become  holier, 
to  be  raised  more  and  more  out  of  my  sel- 
fishness, to  be  more  and  more  filled  with 
love  to  God  and  love  to  all  my  fellow- 
beings,  even  the  lowest  and  the  vilest,  and 
to  be  more  and  more  willing  to  serve  them, 
as  I  have  opportunity ;  and  shall  I  repine, 
1  who  have  been  watched  over  and  guarded 
1 6* 


1 86  OUR   TWO  LIVES. 

every  step  of  the  way,  because  all  my  fool- 
ish heart  has  craved  is  not  given  to  it? 
No ;  it  is  love  which  withholds  as  well  as 
gives,  and  I  can  bless  God  to-day  for  the 
sorrows,  the  sufferings,  and  the  separations 
of  life,  as  well  as  for  its  unions,  its  joys  and 
friendships,  dear  and  unspeakably  precious 
to  my  soul  as  these  have  been.  I  believe 
all  the  love  and  friendship  is  still  in  exist- 
ence, still  guarding  and  blessing  me,  though 
in  what  precise  way  I  cannot  tell ;  nor  do  I 
care  to ;  it  is  in  the  best  way,  and  that  is 
enough  for  me  to  know. 

In  all  these  years  I  have  never  felt  alone ; 
Christ  has  been  faithful  to  His  promise  and 
has  sent  the  Comforter ;  1  know  Christ  loves 
me,  that  Graham  loves  me,  that  all  that  the 
tenderest  love  can  do  to  bless  me  in  the 
highest  sense  of  blessedness  is  being  done — 
and  that  contents  me;  yea  more,  fills  my 
heart  with  gratitude  to  overflowing. 

Not  long  before  Graham  left  me,  I  came 
across  a  few  lines  in  a  newspaper,  homely 
ones  enough,  but  the  sentiment  pleased  him, 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  i%j 

and  when  I  said,  "  That  is  what  you  would 
like  me  to  do,"  he  smiled  and  said,  "  Yes, 
dear."  They  have  been  often  in  my  heart 
since,  and  I  think  have  really  helped  me. 

"  Bury  thy  sorrow,  the  world  hath  its  share, 
Bury  it  deeply,  hide  it  with  care. 

"  Think  of  it  calmly  when  curtained  by  night, 
Tell  it  to  Jesus,  and  all  will  be  right. 

"  Gather  the  sunlight  aglow  on  thy  way, 
Gather  the  moonbeams,  each  soft,  silvery  ray. 

"  Hearts  grown  aweary  with  heavier  woe 
Droop  into  sadness — go,  comfort  them,  go ! 

"Bury  thy  sorrows,  let  others  be  blest, 
Give  them  the  sunshine— tell  Jesus  the  rest.r 


CHAPTER  X. 

THAT  first  year  was  almost  a  blank; 
I  was  physically  exhausted  and 
could  only  endure.  I  do  not  think  I 
could  have  borne  that  year  without  Mary 
Sterling's  inspiring  presence  and  dear  little 
Laura's  caressing  love.  Oh  what  a  blessing 
came  under  our  roof  with  that  poor,  blind 
child  !  Her  ijnstincts  were  so  true  she  never 
sang  too  loud  or  in  any  way  jarred  on  my 
too  sensitive  nerves ;  yet  she  was  like  a  sun- 
beam in  the  house,  gliding  about  like  a  ray 
of  light,  or  a  breath  of  perfume,  scattering 
joy  and  sweetness.  Her  natural  organiza- 
tion is  peculiar,  and  in  that  hour  of  sorrow 
she  did  for  me  what  few  children  could  ;  and 
it  was  no  exaggeration  to  call  her,  as  of 

old,  "my  singing  birdie,"  "  my  little  violet.' 
(188) 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  jgg 

"my  heart's  delight,"  for  everything-  that 
was  sweet  and  comforting  she  was  to  me 
that  year — the  year  I  so  needed  to  be  com- 
forted ;  if  I  had  ever  done  anything  for  her, 
she  repaid  it  then  a  hundred-fold,  and  she 
has  been  a  blessing  ever  since  in  a  thousand 
ways.  I  often  wonder  if  her  mother  knows 
into  what  a  sweet  flower  she  is  unfolding. 
Graham  once  told  me  he  believed  that  what- 
ever could  give  our  friends  pleasure  to  know 
there,  they  certainly  would  know ;  I  like  to 
think  it  is  so,  and  that  his  spirit  rejoices  in 
her  sweetness  and  goodness,  as  he  surely 
would  have  done  had  he  lived  to  see  it. 

At  the  close  of  that  year  I  rallied ;  both 
body  and  mind  regained  their  old  condition, 
and  then  before  me  rose  the  question,— 
"  What  am  I  to  do  with  my  life  in  all  these 
years  that  probably  lie  between  me  and  the 
end?" 

Something  better,  it  seemed  to  me,  as  I 
revolved  it,  might  be  made  of  it  than  to 
merely  live  on  in  luxurious  ease  in  my  large 
house,  with  Mary  Sterling  and  little  Laura 


I90  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

to  minister  to  me ;  but  .what  should  it  be  ? 
I  well  knew  it  was  not  in  me  to  do  any 
great  thing — to  go  into  hospitals,  or  on  a 
mission,  or  anything  else  in  the  heroic  line ; 
Mary  Sterling  was  far  better  adapted  to 
such  efforts — but  I  had  good  health,  I  was 
in  the  prime  of  life,  and  had  means  beyond 
what  I  cared  to  spend  upon  myself;  surely 
I  might  do  some  little  good  to  somebody ! 

But  I  said  to  myself,  "  I  will  not  be  in 
haste,  I  will  wait  and  see  if  any  work  comes 
to  me,  keeping  both  eyes  and  heart  watchful 
to  sieze  on  any  opportunity."  In  the  mean- 
time there  were  a  few  poor  in  our  little  vil- 
lage to  be  relieved,  and  almost  always  some 
sick  person  I  could  watch  with,  or  at  least 
could  carry  broths  and  jellies  to  ;  and  there 
were  the  benevolent  enterprises  carrying  on 
by  great  hearts  in  the  outside  world,  to 
which  I  could  contribute. 

But  I  craved  something  more  personal ; 
something  to  more  fully  occupy  my  empty 
hands;  something  even  involv'ng  much  la- 
bor and  self-denial  I  felt  I  could  accept, 


OUR    TM'O    LIVES.  I91 

nay,  welcome  gladly,  if  it  was  work  for  the 
Master  and  might  be  done  meekly  for  His 
sake. 

The  first  work  that  came  to  me  was  Miss 
Patty  Train.  Poor  soul,  she  had  never  had 
much  of  a  home,  and  had  lost  that  little  ;  she 
had  supported  herself  by  sewing,  but  work 
failed  ;  her  eyes  had  grown  dim  ;  her  limbs 
rheumaticky,  and  her  voice  sounded  more 
than  ever  like  a  tomb-stone.  What  could 
be  done  for  Miss  Patty  ?  Get  her  a  little 
place  and  see  she  was  comfortably  estab- 
lished in  it?  Yes,  but  she  needed  more; 
she  needed  in  her  fading-out,  crippled  old 
age,  care  and  love ;  a  heart  to  lean  on  and 
care  for  her. 

Now,  Miss  Patty  was  not  agreeable  to 
me;  she  never  had  been,  and  now  less  than 
ever,  for  the  joints  of  her  mind  had  got 
knotty  and  twisted  as  well  as  those  of  her 
body,  and  was  not  likely  to  be  a  lovely,  but 
a  soured,  complaining,  disagreeable  old  age ; 
yet  somehow  my  heart  warmed  to  her;  she 
certainly  was  one  of  God's  children,  to  be 


I Cj2  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

looked  after  by  somebody.  I  had  a  bright, 
sunny  room  up-stairs,  over  the  sitting-room  ; 
cosev  and  comfortable  Miss  Patty  might  be 
made  there  !  I  was  almost  afraid  to  suggest 
it  to  Mary,  fearing  she  would  ridicule  the 
idea — I  rather  thought  it  was  ridiculous  my- 
self, but  I  wanted  to  do  it,  if  it  was. 

Mary  at  first  debated  the  subject  a  little, 
and  I  compromised  by  deciding  to  ask  Miss 
Patty  to  make  me  a  little  visit.  So  I  put  on 
my  bonnet  and  went  over  that  very  after* 
noon.  I  found  her  in  her  worst  mood,  and 
there  was  no  use  in  trying  to  make  anything 
right ;  everybody  had  abused  her,  even  the 
Almighty  himself  had  dealt  hardly  by  her. 

"  It's  easy  enough,"  she  said,  "  for  folks 
like  you,  who've  never  had  any  trouble,  to 
talk  about  God's  bein'  good  ;  I  s'pose  if  I 
lived  in  a  big  house  and  had  everything  I 
wanted,  I  should  think  he  was  marciful  too  ; 
but  when  a  body  's  been  tormented  all  her 
life,  and  hain't  got  no  home,  nor  friends,  nor 
health,  nor  money,  and  don't  know  where 
she's  to  put  down  the  sole  of  her  foot  next, 


OUR   TWO  LIVES. 


193 


it  ain't  so  easy  to  talk  about  his  goodness, 
1  tell  'em ;  and  I  guess  you  d  find  'twan't,  if 
you  was  in  my  shoes." 

"  I  want  you  should  come  over  and  stay 
awhile  with  me,  Miss  Patty,"  I  said,  "  I  have 
got  a  warm  room,  and  think  I  can  make  you 
very  comfortable." 

She  turned  on  me  as  if  I  had  proposed 
robbing  her. 

"  How  am  I  to  git  away,  I  should  like  to 
know,  and  leave  all  my  things  for  anybody 
to  destroy  or  carry  off  who  wanted  to  ? 
That's  just  as  much  as  some  folks  know." 

Her  things  were  but  a  miserable  collec- 
tion of  old  duds,  but  dear  and  precious  to 
her  for  all  that.  I  can't  say  I  wanted  them, 
but  I  made  another  effort. 

"  I've  got  a  good  attic,"  I  said,  "  where 
they  can  be  put  away  nicely,  and  as  you 
say  you  have  got  to  leave  here,  that  may 
be  as  good  a  place  as  any  for  storing 
them." 

"  Who's  goin'  to  see  to  movin'  on  'em,  I 
should  like  to  know,  and  I  a  lyin*  here  ill 
17 


194  OUR   TWO  LIVES. 

cramped  up  with  the  rheumatiz?"  she  asked, 
angrily. 

I  put  on  my  blandest  smile  and  answered, 

"  Wouldn't  you  dare  to  trust  me  to  pack 
them  up,  Miss  Patty,  and  let  Tcm  come 
over  with  his  wagon  and  bring  them  ?  I'll 
see  he  does  it  carefully." 

"  I  don't  see  what  you  want  to  come  here 
for,  stirrin'  up  an  old  woman  who's  lyin'  on 
her  dyin'  bed — why  can't  you  let  me  be  and 
die  in  peace  ?" 

Now  the  fact  was  she  was  not  likely  to 
die  for  several  years,  and  she  could  not  stay 
there  ;  the  roof  leaked  on  her  bed,  the  chim- 
ney was  tumbling  down,  and  the  cold  win- 
ter coming  on,  while  the  owner  of  the 
wretched  old  tenement  was  determined  to 
get  rid  of  her ;  the  choice  was  between  the 
poor-house  and  my  offer.  I  finally  set  this 
before  her  in  a  few  plain,  Saxon  words ;  and, 
after  deliberating  a  week  or  two,  she  conde- 
scended to  come  to  me  as  the  least  evil, 
never  concealing  the  fact  that  she  consid- 
ered it  an  evil.  Poor  soul!  it  was  one  to 


OUR   TWO  LIVES,  Iyjj 

ner ;  change  of  any  kind  is  hard  in  old  age, 
and  with  every  nerve  in  her  quivering  with 
pain,  how  could  she  help  feeling  distressed 
at  being  "  turned  out  of  house  and  home," 
as  she  termed  it? 

I  tried  to  make  the  change  as  easy  for  her 
as  possible  ;  at  first  I  had  the  room  arranged 
as  tastefully  as  I  could,  making  up  the  bed 
with  one  of  my  nicest  Marseilles  counter 
panes ;  but  on  second  thought  I  had  it  taken 
off  and  her  own  sheets  and  patch-work  quilt 
put  on  instead,  and  her  old  bureau  with  the 
clock  standing  on  it,  her  chest  of  drawers 
and  two  old-fashioned  rocking-chairs,  which 
Tom  had  brought  over,  set  up  to  make  the 
room  look  as  much  as  possible  like  the  old 
one  ;  for  I  knew  these  familiar  objects  would 
be  much  pleasanter  to  her  eye  than  any 
strange  furniture,  however  handsome ;  but 
I  left  the  reclining-chair  in  one  corner,  think- 
ing she  might  find  in  time  how  much  more 
restful  it  would  be  to  her  aching  bones. 

"  Why,  Auntie,"  said  Laura,  when  she  had 
seen  all  the   arrangements — that  is,  felt  of 


I96  OUR   TWO  LIVES. 

them — getting  as  correct  an  idea,  appar- 
ently, as  I  had  of  their  exact  appearance, 
"  how  could  you  do  so?" 

I  tried  to  explain  my  reasons,  but  I  saw 
she  was  only  half  convinced,  and  still  a  little 
troubled,  so,  by  way  of  comforting  her,  I 
allowed  her  to  bring  in  Chirp,  her  pet  ca- 
nary, and  her  most  precious  possession,  to 
hang  in  the  bay  window.  I  considered  this 
a  doubtful  experiment,  but  she  was  very 
anxious  to  do  something  for  poor  Miss 
Patty. 

"  And  Chirp  will  sing  so,  it  will  make  her 
glad,"  she  said. 

One  warm  sunny  October  day  Miss  Pat- 
ty, well  wrapt  up  in  comfortables,  was 
brought  over  and  carried  to  the  nicely- 
warmed  sunshiny -room;  her  possessions, 
even  to  each  old  broom  and  pan  and  skillet, 
having  been  removed  before.  If  I  had  ex- 
pected— which  I  did  not— that  Miss  Patty 
would  show  any  pleasure  in  her  new  sur- 
roundings, I  should  have  been  screly  disap- 
pointed, for  nothing  about  them  was  right, 


OUR   TWO  LIVES.  197 

and  in  less  than  fifteen  minutes  after  her  ar- 
rival, as  Chirp,  inspired  by  all  that  was  go- 
ing on,  poured  forth  his  most  exuberant 
song,  she  cried  out, — 

"  Who  did  put  that  squallin'  critter  here — 
do  carry  him  off,  or  he'll  drive  me  ravin' 
crazy !" 

Laura's  face,  as  Chirp  was  taken  down 
and  ignominiously  carried  back  to  his  old 
perch,  was  pitiful  to  see ;  great  tears  rolled 
down  her  cheeks,  and  for  almost  the  first 
time  in  her  life  she  was  really  angry. 

"  She  don't  like  Chirp — she  won't  hear 
Chirpie  sing,"  she  cried,  as  if  it  were  beyond 
belief,  "  she's  a  naughty,  bad,  ugly,  old — " 

I  placed  my  hand  on  her  mouth. 

"  She  is  a  poor,  sick  old  woman,  full  of 
trouble  and  pain,"  I  said,  "  one  of  God's 
children,  whom  He  has  sent  here  for  us  to 
see  if  we  can't  make  her  a  little  happier." 

"  Did  He  send  her?"  she  asked,  her  voice 
full  of  awe. 

"  I  think  so,"  I  answered,  "  the  poor,  the 
sick  and  the  suffering  are  all  His  children ; 
17* 


igS  OUR    TWO   LIVES. 

and  He  permits  us  to  minister  to  them,  and 
says  that  what  we  do  for  them  is  done  for 
Him." 

"  Is  it  ?"  she  said,  still  in  the  same  awed 
tone,  "  can  we — can  I  do  anything  for  Him  f 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  and  as  soon  as  I  had  leisure 
I  opened  her  Gospels,  which  she  has  in 
raised  letters,  and  placed  her  hand  on  a 
verse.  She  traced  her  fingers  over  them 
carefully,  slowly  repeating, — 

"  Verily  I  say  unto  you,  Inasmuch  as  ye 
have  done  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these 
my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me." 

I  then  placed  her  finger  on  anothei 
passage. 

"  And  whosoever  shall  give  to  drink  unto 
one  of  these  little  ones  a  cup  of  cold  water 
in  the  name  of  a  disciple,  verily  I  say  unto 
you  he  shall  in  no  wise  lose  his  reward." 

"  Did  Jesus  Christ  say  these  lines  ?"  she 
asked. 

"  Yes,  with  His  own  blessed  voice." 

She  said  no  more,  but  I  knew  the  truth 
contained  in  these  words  had  found  a  lodg- 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  igg 

nicnt  in  her  busy  brain.  She  was  then  eight 
years  old,  and  very  thoughtful  for  her  age, 
seeing  more  things  without  eyes,  I  often 
thought,  than  most  children  with. 

The  next  morning  she  said, — 

"  Auntie,  I  want  to  carry  up  Miss  Patty's 
coffee  ;  may  I  ?  I  won't  spill." 

So  I  gave  her  a  little  waiter  with  the  cof- 
fee cup,  sugar  and  cream  on  it,  while  I  car- 
ried the  large  one  with  the  rest  of  the 
breakfast. 

It  was  always  pretty  to  see  Laura's  deft- 
handed  little  ways,  and  the  first  pleased 
word  Miss  Patty  uttered  was, — 

"  I  declare,  if  'tain't  a  sight  to  behold  that 
Beeby  gal  carryin'  things  round  so !  I  never 
did  see  the  beat  on't." 

Laura's  face  shone  with  delight,  and,  after 
I  had  heard  Miss  Patty's  long  string  of  com- 
plaints, and  by  much  effort  got  her  into 
some  new,  warm  flannels,  and  made  her 
generally  as  comfortable  as  1  could,  she  and 
I  went  down  stairs  together,  and  putting 
her  hand  in  mine,  she  whispered  softly, — 


200  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

"  Wasn't  it  the  same  as  giving  a  cup  of 
cold  water,  Auntie  ?" 

"  Yes,  dear,"  I  said,  and  kissed  the  eager, 
up-turned  face. 

It  was  good  for  Laura  to  trot  up  stairs 
and  down,  waiting  on  Miss  Patty,  even  to 
bear  with  her  peevishness,  though  she  was 
less  fretful  toward  her  and  more  willing  she 
should  do  for  her  than  any  one  else. 

But  it  was  still  better  for  me.  Miss  Patty 
was  trying,  very  trying,  at  times ;  but  while 
listening  to  her  complainings,  or  bathing 
her  swollen  limbs,  or  trying  to  tempt  her 
appetite  by  cooking  up  some  little  dainty, 
the  pain  seemed  to  go  out  of  my  heart,  at 
the  tips  of  my  fingers,  as  it  were ;  it  was 
good  for  me  to  have  her  on  my  mind  by 
day  and  to  steal  many  times  into  her  room 
each  night,  to  see  she  was  not  exposed  to 
cold,  and  bathe  the  limbs  so  full  of  pain ; 
and  if  she  showed  no  special  gratitude,  I 
knew  the  poor  old  soul  was  really  more 
comfortable  than  she  would  have  been  any- 
where else. 


OUR   TWO  LIVES  2Ql 

Afer  a  few  weeks  the  swelling  of  the  joints 
lessened,  she  could  sleep  at  night,  could  sit 
up  and  even  walk  a  few  steps,  leaning  on 
my  arm,  and  her  nervous  system  was  get- 
ting more  composed.  One  day  she  even  let 
me  put  on  a  new  cap  and  flannel  wrapper, 
and  looked,  as  Laura  said,  after  passing  her 
fingers  softly  over  them,  "  so  nice  !" 

She  did  look  nice,  and  when  I  sat  down 
and  read  a  little  while  to  her,  as  I  did  every 
day,  she  burst  out  into  a  kind  of  sob. 

"What  a  good-for-nothin',  fault -findin', 
ungrateful  old  crittur  I  am  !"  she  said,  "  and 
how  good  you  be  to  me,  Miss  Kingston !" 

But  in  the  same  breath  she  added, — 

"  Laury,  do  turn  up  these  cuffs ;  they're  a 
sight  too  long ;  it's  strange  folks  never  can 
get  anything  right." 

Had  my  object  been  recognition  and  grat- 
itude, I  should  have  been  sorely  disappoint- 
ed ;  but  I  worked  from  another  motive  and 
had  my  reward — had  it  in  seeing  the  peace- 
fulness  that  gradually  stole  over  her  weary 
face,  in  the  lessening  of  her  pain,  in  the  new 


2O2  OUR    TWO  LI  FES. 

self-control  and  patience  that  gradually 
sprang  up  within  her,  and  in  knowing  I  had 
done  something  to  make  one  sad,  lonely, 
desolate  heart  a  little  less  sad  and  lonely 
Often  while  ministering  to  her  I  seemed  to 
feel  Graham's  presence  all  about  me ;  I 
knew  that  if  indeed  he  had  any  cognizance 
of  me  and  my  surroundings,  he  would  be 
glad  to  see  Miss  Patty  there ;  and  sweeter 
and  dearer  than  all,  close  at  my  heart,  lay 
the  inspiring  words,  "Inasmuch  as  ye  have 
done  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these  my 
brethren, ye  have  done  it  unto  me"  Perhaps 
I  did  a  foolish  thing  in  taking  her,  I  could 
not  tell;  I  knew  other  people  thought  so; 
but  I  know  it  brought  a  blessing  to  my 
heart,  stilling  many  a  weary  longing  there. 

I  never  forgot  in  those  days,  when  it  was 
most  necessary  to  remember  it,  Graham's 
desire  that  I  should  not  go  mourning  and 
melancholy  through  life.  "  I  think  it  will 
sadden  me  even  in  heaven,  if  you  do,"  he 
had  said.  And  I  found  so  much  that  was 
good  still  left  in  the  world,  so  much  to  be 


OUR   TWO  LIVES.  203 

enjoyed,  why  should  I  go  tearful  and  sad  all 
my  days? 

There  were  the  beautiful  seasons  coming 
and  going,  each  with  its  own  peculiar  charm 
and  glory;  there  were  the  starry  heavens 
above  and  the  lovely  earth  beneath  5  and  if 
those  I  loved  best  were  absent  from  my 
sight,  there  were  some  warmly-beating  hu- 
man hearts  still  round  me  that  I  could  reach 
and  comfort. 

I  enjoyed  my  flowers,  my  rambles  into 
the  fragrant  woods,  the  visits  of  friends,  the 
reading  of  new  books,  and  still  more  of  the 
old  ones,  embalmed  by  many  precious  mem- 
ories. I  enjoyed  our  church,  our  prayer- 
meetings,  our  social  reunions,  the  bright 
groups  of  youthful  faces  that  gathered  round 
me,  pouring  out  their  little  histories  of  joy 
and  sorrow  into  my  ear — everything  that 
was  beautiful  and  good  in  God's  fair  world 
was  still  mine  to  enjoy  more  fully  even  than 
before,  though  so  very,  very  differently.  1 
could  not  shroud  myself  in  crape,  nor  look 
at  the  world  through  the  dense  blackness  of 


204 


OUR    TWO   LIVES. 


a  widow  s  veil.  I  wanted  to  gather  in  the 
sunlight,  to  be  permeated  by  its  warmth  and 
light,  that  so,  if  possible,  I  might  reflect 
its  rays  on  others,  instead  of  chilling 
them. 

I  heard  that  Mrs.  Stone,  who  at  first  often 
came  to  condole  with  me,  expressed  great 
astonishment  that  a  woman  who  had  lost 
such  a  husband  should  feel  it  so  little.  But 
I  had  not  lost  him  ;  he  was  still  living,  still 
mine.  I  had  not  laid  my  best  beloved  in 
the  dark  grave,  only  the  dust  that  had 
shrouded  him — very  dear  and  precious  dust 
it  was ;  and  most  tenderly  did  I  nurture  the 
fair  white  lilies  that  I  had  planted  on  his 
grave — his  favorite  flower ;  but  he  was  not 
there — oh  no,  no,  no  ! 

And  had  I  felt  it  little  ?  God  only  knew— 
perhaps  in  the  sense  she  meant,  I  had.  I 
had  not  cherished  grief,  nor  thought  it  dis- 
nonor  to  his  memory  to  be  as  happy  and 
cheerful  as  I  could,  How  little  one  person 
knows  how  the  heart-strings  of  another  vi- 
brate •  and  how  very  careful,  therefore,  we 


OUR    TWO  LIVES. 


205 


should  be  in  forming  estimates  of  their  hid- 
den life ! 


With  Miss  Patty,  Mary  Sterling  and  little 
Laura  in  my  house  and  heart,  there  yet  was 
room  ;  and  how  should  it  be  filled  ?  Either 
with  old  women  or  little  children,  I  used  to 
tell  Mary  Sterling,  because  all  my  capaci- 
ties lay  in  these  two  lines ;  and  I  thought, 
perhaps,  one  or  the  other  would  come  to 
me,  if  I  kept  watch  a  little  longer. 

In  the  third  year  of  my  loneliness  I  took 
a  journey.  Miss  Patty,  who  had  been  with 
me  almost  a  year,  was  a  great  deal  better, 
really  suffering  but  little,  and  able  to  walk 
about  in  the  garden  on  sunny  days.  I  had 
an  excellent  girl  in  the  kitchen  ;  Mary  Ster- 
ling was  there  to  keep  everything  straight ; 
so  I  accepted  an  invitation  from  a  dear 
friend  I  had  not  seen  for  years  to  visit  her 
in  New  York.  Laura  would  go  with  me, 
partly  because  I  never  could  bear  to  have 
her  long  away,  and  partly  that  I  wished  to 
18 


206  OUR    TWO    LIVES. 

take  her  to  the  Institution  for  the  Blind,  ir 
order  to  gain  information  about  the  best 
way  of  educating  her. 

The  country  was  glowing  with  June  love- 
liness ;  and  I  enjoyed  every  moment  of  my 
journey,  and  also  enjoyed  the  visit  to  Mrs. 
James,  herself  a  widow.  Having  been  left 
with  a  large  fortune,  she  had  identified  her- 
self with  several  of  the  charitable  movements 
of  the  city,  and  the  three  weeks  I  spent  with 
her  opened  a  new  world  to  me— a  world  01 
which  I  had  never  dreamed — a  world  filled 
with  crime  and  poverty,  and  the  fearful  suf- 
fering growing  out  of  them.  I  often  went 
with  her  on  her  visits  to  some  of  the  vilest 
portions  of  the  city,  and  one  day  we  came 
on  a  family  that  specially  interested  me.  I 
cannot  describe  the  filth  and  degradation 
that  surrounded  them,  of  which  the  bare 
sight  sickened  me.  They  were  an  English 
family ;  the  father  had  died  on  the  voyage 
over ;  and  the  mother,  still  looking  like  a 
young  woman,  lay  dying  on  a  heap  of  filthy 
rags.  So  far  as  we  could  judge,  from  the 


OTA'    7T.-O    Lfl'E.l.  2O? 

stories  we  heard,  she  had  been  intemperate, 
and  perhaps  a  bad  woman  in  other  ways ; 
but,  good  or  bad,  she  was  going  out  of  the 
world  to  leave  four  little  children  orphans 
and  shelterless.  Two  of  them  were  twin 
girls,  about  three  years  old,  the  eldest,  a 
boy  of  five  or  six,  and  a  baby  a  few  months 
old,  also  a  boy.  The  twins  were  uncom- 
monly nice-looking  children,  or  would  be 
when  their  faces  were  washed  and  heads 
combed,  but  the  boy  had  a  bold,  bad  face. 
As  we  went  home,  Mrs.  James  was  planning 
how  to  get  these  children,  or  at  least  some 
of  them,  into  asylums  provided  for  such 
outcasts. 

"The  trouble  is,"  she  said,  "they  are  all 
overrun  with  applications;  and  even  those 
who  get  in  have  really  no  home-life;  they 
can't  have  in  such  large  establishments.' 

"  But  it  is  vastly  better  than  leaving  them 
where  they  are,"  I  said,  "  no  child  could 
live  there  long." 

"  So  you  would  think,  but  they  do ;  hun- 
dreds grow  up  in  just  such  places,  nobody 


208  °UR    TWO  LIVES. 

knows  how ;  sleeping  in  cellars  or  crawling 
for  shelter  under  door-steps  or  into  empty 
hogsheads,  anywhere  for  a  slight  shelter 
Who  can  wonder  they  soon  spend  every 
penny  that  is  given  them  at  a  gin-shop,  and 
that  long  before  they  are  grown  up  they  are 
thieves  and  drunkards,  or  something  worse  ? 
Yes,  they  are  better  off  in  an  asylum,  of 
course ;  but,  Annie,  you  don't  know  how 
disheartening  it  is  to  try  to  stem  the  tide  of 
vice  and  misery  that  flows  over  such  a  city 
as  this !  The  little  that  is  done  only  shows 
how  much  is  left  undone  —  how  much  lies 
beyond  the  reach  of  any  human  help.  What 
are  the  few  drops  of  relief  in  this  great 
ocean  of  sin  and  suffering  ?  And  the  suffer- 
ing all  comes  from  sin ;  if  men  and  women 
were  only  industrious  and  temperate,  there 
would  be  no  such  horrors  as  we  have  seen 
to-day." 

"  But  a  great  deal  is  being  done,"  I  said, 
"  and  each  one  who  does  all  he  can  stands 
clear  in  the  sight  of  God." 

"Yes.   but   who   does   all   he    can  —  who 


OUR    TWO   LIVES.  2Og 

Knows  hov;  much  he  ought  to  do?  Often, 
when  I  come  home  from  such  vile  places,  I 
look  round  on  my  luxurious  rooms,  or  what 
seem  such  by  comparison,  with  utter  dis- 
gust ;  my  curtains  and  carpets,  my  silks  and 
embroideries,  all  seem  abominable  extrava- 
gances." 

"  Yet  you  live  and  dress  quite  simply  for 
the  city,"  I  said. 

"  I  know  I  do ;  but  sometimes  I  feel  that  I 
ought  to  wear  nothing  but  sackcloth,  and 
turn  into  a  Sister  of  Charity  and  live  among 
the  poor.  Oh,  it  is  so  hard  to  know  how 
much  one  ought  to  do !" 

It  was  hard ;  of  course  I  repeated  the 
usual  platitudes  in  relation  to  one's  having 
a  right  to  gratify  his  tastes,  and  that  expen- 
ditures gave  employment  to  the  poor,  which 
was  better  than  charity,  and  so  on ;  truths, 
perhaps — only  there  are  sharp  moments  in 
our  life  when  some  things  stare  us  in  the 
face  and  shake  us  out  of  our  old,  ordinary 
notions,  or  at  least  into  wondering  whether 
they  are  true  or  false  ones ;  moments  when 
1 8* 


210  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

certain  words  of  Christ's  crowd  on  our 
memory,  burdened  with  a.  meaning  beyond 
what  the  church  or  the  world  has  yet  dis- 
covered. I  suppose  we  all  have  such  mo- 
ments ;  and  then  we  sink  back  into  the  old 
routine  of  making  ourselves  perfectly  com- 
fortable, and  giving  what  little  beyond  that 
we  can  spare  for  the  poor ;  and  oh  !  it  takes 
so  much  to  make  ourselves  thoroughly 
comfortable,  that  too  often  there  is  a  small 
enough  moiety  left ! 

After  I  went  to  my  room  that  night,  I 
lifted  my  curtain  and  stood  long  at  my  win- 
dow, gazing  out  over  the  masses  of  chimney- 
tops  and  roofs  of  that  great  city;  where 
thousands  on  thousands  of  human  beings 
were  congregated,  some  lying  on  beds  of 
luxury,  some  sunk  in  poverty,  and  O  God ! 
so  many,  many  steeped  in  crime — yet  all 
God's  children,  all  watched  over  by  His  all- 
seeing  eye  !  I  could  not  take  it  in ;  the 
burden  was  greater  than  I  could  bear.  I 
wept — I  stretched  out  my  arms  as  if  I  would 
fain  embrace  them  all  in  a  grasp  of  love — 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  211 

but  I  was  powerless.  I  could  only  leave 
them  in  the  arms  of  everlasting  Love.  Ob, 
what  a  comfort  it  was  that  night  to  know 
that  He  was  Love  ! 

I  could  not  sleep,  thoughts  so  crowded  on 
my  brain.  I  was  but  an  infinitesimal  por- 
tion of  this  great  family,  but  I  was  a  part ; 
I  had  my  place  in  it  and  my  work.  I  was 
to  do  all  I  could  to  help  the  others,  no  mat- 
ter ho\v  infinitely  small  that  all  might  be — 
and  outside  of  these  festering  alleys,  where 
never  a  breath  of  pure  air  could  come,  there 
^ay  a  great  world  of  air  and  sunlight,  of 
green  trees  and  flowers.  If  I  could  take  out 
from  those  alleys,  from  all  the  vileness  of 
its  surroundings,  one  human  being  created 
in  God's  image  and  give  it  His  pure  air  and 
sunshine  —  give  it  wholesome  food,  clean 
clothing,  and  the  sweet  genial  atmosphere 
of  a  Christian  home,  it  surely  would  be  do- 
ing something;  it  might  be  rescuing  one 
soul  from  sin  to  a  whole  eternity  of  purity 
and  blessedness.  Why  should  I  not  do  it — 
I  whose  arms  God  had  made  so  empty,  and 


212  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

whose  heart  He  had  filled  with  such  strong 
yearnings  for  work  and  usefulness?  Whj 
should  I  not  do  more — why  should  I  not 
take  all  those  four  English  orphans  out  of 
the  slime  and  filth,  and  give  them  food  and 
clothing,  shelter  and  education?  I,  who 
had  a  great  house  and  no  chick  nor  child, 
nor  blood  relation,  so  far  as  I  knew,  who 
needed  help,  what  was  to  hinder  me  from 
filling  it  with  these  forsaken  outcasts  ?  My 
eyes  filled  with  tears  of  gladness  at  the 
thought,  and  as  I  earnestly  prayed  to  be 
guided  to  a  right  course  in  relation  to  them, 
there  came  to  me  a  sweet  consciousness 
of  Graham's  presence — warm,  bright,  joy- 
giving,  soul-inspiring — what,  I  wondered, 
would  he  advise  me  to  do?  His  wishes 
and  Christ's  would  now  be  in  perfect  uni- 
son ;  whatever  one  thought  of  it,  the  other 
thought,  and  my  soul  thrilled  with  a  joyful 
sense  that  both  were  near  me. 

But  was  it  not  a  romantic  project  which 
a  little  day-light,  practical  common-sense 
would  shiver  into  atoms?  I  did  not  want 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  21$ 

to  act  impulsively  or  foolishly — I  would  re- 
flect and  take  advice. 

When  the  daylight  came,  two  opposite 
sides  of  the  question  presented  themselves 
to  my  mind  forcibly ;  two  voices  spoke 
loudly  and  earnestly. 

First  voice — "  Taking  four  children  is  very 
well  to  dream  of;  it  would  sound  well  in  a 
story-book,  but  real  life  is  not  a  dream  or 
romance,  and  to  take  four  children  into  your 
family  would  bring  more  labor,  care  and 
vexation  of  spirit  than  you  have  the  slightest 
idea  of — more  than  you  could  bear  or  ought 
to  bear." 

Second  voice — "  But  many  a  woman  has 
trained  eight  or  ten  children  and  has  not 
broken  down,  but  lived  to  a  good  old  age." 

First  voice — "  They  were  her  own  chil- 
dren— the  children  God  gave  her ;  and  with 
them,  coming  one  by  one,  He  gave  strength 
to  bear  the  burden.  No  one  has  a  call  to 
take  other  people's  children  ;  they  have  not 
in  that  case  parental  love,  nor  the  strength 
parental  love  gives;  it  is  a  different  thing 


214  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

entirely.  You  could  not  train  them  prop« 
erly  ;  you  are  a  lone  and  not  over  wise 
woman,  and  boys  need  a  man's  oversight; 
you  would  probably  ruin  them  if  you  un- 
dertook." 

Second  voice  —  "You  might  train  them 
poorly  enough,  it  is  true,  but  who  will  do 
any  better  by  them  ?  If  there  was  a  proba- 
bility of  their  having  a  decent  home  any- 
where else,  it  would  be  different,  but  you 
could  surely  give  them  a  better  education 
than  they  will  get  in  that  wretched  New 
York  alley.  Anything  in  the  country  is 
better;  and  God  gives  strength  to  those 
who  need  it." 

First  voice — "He  gives  strength  to  such 
as  are  in  the  way  of  their  duty,  but  not  to 
those  who  impulsively  rush  out  of  theii 
place  and  assume  responsibilities  they  are 
not  called  to.  And  what  will  people  say  ? 
How  absurd  it  will  look  for  you  to  come 
home  with  your  dirty  children  —  all  Ash- 
wood  will  think  you  are  either  crazy  or  a 
fool !" 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  2l$ 

Second  voice—"  Ash  wood  people  may  say 
what  they  please ;  you  serve  a  different 
Master ;  if  He  approves,  let  the  whole  world 
consider  you  foolish  ;  what  is  that  to  you  ?" 

But  I  did  care.  I  did  not  like  to  do  what 
seemed  ridiculous,  especially  now  I  had  no 
husband  to  shield  me ;  though  I  resolved  I 
would  not  let  that  prevent  me  from  doing 
what  I  knew  to  be  right.  If  they  had  all 
been  girls  it  would  have  been  much  easier 
to  decide,  but  I  stood  in  mortal  fear  of  boys, 
never  having  been  thrown  much  with  them, 
and  having  nothing  in  my  own  experience 
to  help  me  understand  a  boy's  nature  ;  very 
likely  I  should  ruin  one  by  improper  indul- 
gence, or  improper  restraint,  or  both ;  and 
these  boys  would  inherit  evil  traits,  no 
doubt,  and  be  particularly  hard  to  manage. 
I  was  sorely  puzzled.  But  they  would  have 
air  and  sunlight,  and  green  grass  and  home- 
influences,  and  these  would  alone  be  worth 
something. 

I  consulted  Mary  Sterling,  for  I  did  not 
wish  to  make  her  home  uncomfortable,  and 


2i6  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

I  relied  very  much  on  her  judgment,  for  if 
I  had  a  foolish,  romantic  streak  in  me,  she 
was  practical  common-sense  itself;  and,  in 
the  meantime,  I  advised  with  Mrs.  James, 
who  was  a  sensible  woman.  She  thought  I 
might  safely  take  the  children  and  keep 
them  for  the  present ;  and  when  the  boys 
got  beyond  my  control,  if  they  ever  did, 
find  them  a  good  place  in  the  country  under 
some  man  I  knew.  Their  chances  for  grow- 
ing up  decent  men  and  women  must,  she 
said,  be  vastly  greater  than  if  left  in  a  city, 
and  she  was  sure  God  would  strengthen  me 
for  the  work.  I  had  no  idea  of  adopting 
them — Laura  I  should  always  consider  mine 
— but  my  idea  was  to  so  educate  them  as  to 
fit  them  to  support  themselves  when  grown, 
giving  them  to  understand  that  from  the 
first. 

Mary  Sterling's  answer  was  a  great  relief; 
she  believed  I  was  doing  both  a  wise  and 
kind  thing  to  take  them  ;  and  that  my  life 
would  be  greatly  enriched  by  these  new  in- 
terests ;  and  that,  so  far  as  she  was  concerned, 


OUR    TWO  LIVES 


217 


she  should  be  truly  glad  to  help  me  in  any 
way  she  could ;  she,  too,  wanted  work,  and 
did  not  shrink,  or  believe  I  need  to,  from 
the  care  and  labor  involved. 

She  closed  her  letter  by  saying : 
"  I  must  tell  you  that  Miss  Patty  is  greatly 
shocked  at  the  idea  of  having  your  house 
made  into  what  she  calls  'a  foundin'  hospi- 
tal,' and  even  goes  so  far  as  to  threaten  to 
leave  it  if  they  come !  I  tried  to  mollify  her 
by  representing  what  an  opening  it  would 
make  for  her  services  as  a  seamstress — she 
had  just  been  complaining  that  she  wanted 
work  and  could  not  get  any — but  she  turned 
up  her  nose  indignantly  at  the  idea  of '  sew- 
in'  for  them  brats.' " 

I  had  considered  Miss  Patty  before,  know- 
ing pretty  well  how  it  would  strike  her, 
but  I  hoped  to  make  such  arrangements 
when  I  got  home  that  she  should  still  prefer 
my  home  to  the  poor-house.  But  I  own  to 
great  sinking  of  spirits  as  I  looked  forward 
to  the  life  of  petty  annoyances  and  wearing 
nares  I  was  taking  up.  But  had  I  not  longed 
19 


2ig  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

for  something  beside  ease,  and  should  1 
complain  that  I  was  not  going  to  have  an 
easy  life? 

No ;  having  convinced  myself  I  was  doing 
good  work,  I  would  go  forward  bravely 
and  cheerily,  placing  myself  and  the  chil- 
dren trustfully  in  God's  hands  and  relying 
on  His  strength. 

I  had  bought  some  ready-made  garments 
"or  the  children  ;  and,  arrayed  in  them,  they 
were  brought  over  to  Mrs.  James's  the  night 
before  I  left  the  city.  The  mother  had  died 
before  this,  and  we  had  seen  her  decently 
buried,  and  had  collected  what  scanty  in, 
formation  we  could  about  the  former  life  of 
the  parents,  for  the  children's  sake,  though 
we  learned  little  I  should  ever  wish  to  tell 
them. 


CHAPTER  XL 

YES,  the  four  children  all  came  after 
this  wise.  Mark  Barry,  the  eldest, 
had  bold,  black  eyes ;  a  thick  mass  of 
black  hair,  given  to  standing  up  all  over 
his  head ;  a  very  dark,  sallow  complexion, 
large  mouth,  large  ears,  large  hands, 
and  large  body  every  way,  with  a  defiant, 
let-me-alone  kind  of  air;  he  said  he  was 
seven  the  May  before,  and  looked  older  than 
that.  The  twins  were  two  blue-eyed,  light- 
haired,  fair-complexioned  children,  three 
years  old,  but  small  for  that  age,  and  look- 
ing so  exactly  alike  I  could  only  tell  them 
apart  by  Fanny's  darker  hair ;  Lucy  was  a 
trifle  shorter,  too;  but  both  had  plump, 

round,  regular    English  faces,  while   Mark 

(219) 


220  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

'.ooked  as  if  he  might  be  the  child  of  a  Span- 
sh  pirate. 

The  baby,  whom  I  had  scarcely  noticed 
oefore,  was  a  beautiful  child,  apparently 
about  six  months  old,  with  soft,  dark  eyes 
and  the  loveliest  expression,  who,  as  soon  as 
I  took  him,  stretched  out  his  little  hands  to 
me  and  began  to  talk  baby-talk  and  crow  in 
the  most  cunning  and  winning  way.  Laura 
was  enchanted  by  the  baby,  whom  she  at 
once  busied  herself  about,  but  she  kept  very 
shy  of  the  others,  while  her  blindness  seem- 
ed to  frighten  them,  especially  the  twins. 

I  had  engaged  an  English  Protestant  wo- 
man as  nursery-girl  and  chamber-maid  ;  my 
enlarged  family  requiring  additional  service, 
and  she  came  with  the  children  to  go  on 
with  us.  So  I  started  off  in  the  clear  bright- 
ness of  a  June  morning  with  my  retinue  of 
five.  Surely  I  should  not  soon  have  to  com- 
plain again  of  empty  hands ! 

That  was  five  years  ago,  and  to-day  my 
family  stands  as  follows:  myself,  a  woman 
forty-one  years  of  age,  with  here  and  there 


OUR   TWO  LIVES.  ?u 

a  gray  hair  showing  itself,  but  healthy  and 
vigorous,  and  too  full  of  care  to  have  many 
sad  or  lonely  hours,  often  anxious,  some- 
times gravely  troubled,  but  generally  calm 
and  peaceful,  trusting  that  I  am  doing  the 
work  my  Master  would  have  me  do — doing 
it  imperfectly  and  with  many,  many  errors 
and  mistakes,  as  I  only  too  well  know — but 
still,  with  an  underlying  purpose  to  do  it  in 
the  fear  and  love  of  God,  and  with  the 
cheering  hope  that  His  smile  and  blessing 
are  resting  upon  me,  day  by  day,  as  I 
travel  on. 

Miss  Patty,  who  on  the  whole  concluded 
to  remain,  is  sitting  in  her  pleasant  room 
where  the  morning  sun  is  shining  on  her 
and  where,  one  by  one,  new  and  nicer  arti- 
cles of  furniture  have  replaced  the  old  and 
worn-out  ones.  She  is  still  a  little  inclined 
to  fret  and  think  her  lot  in  life  is  hard  ;  but 
in  reality  she  is  now  quite  free  from  pain,- 
and  able  to  do  a  good  deal  with  the  needle, 
especially  in  the  way  of  mending;  by  her 
side  stands  a  heaped-up  basket  of  little 
19* 


222  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

stockings,  in  which  the  eight  busy,  restless, 
kicking,  climbing,  dancing  feet  have  made 
sad  holes,  but  into  which,  with  patient  fin- 
gers, she  will  set  stitch  after  stitch  till  they 
are  whole  again,  relieving  her  mind  by  oc- 
casionally asserting,— 

"There  never  was  such  a  tearin'  set  o' 
children  as  I've  got  on  my  hands  in  my  old 
age!  When  I  was  young,  bare  feet  was 
good  enough  for  anybody,  but  now  beggar's 
children  must  go  shod.  I  don't  know  what 
Miss  Kingston  is  thinking  on  for  my  part — 
'twill  take  a  sight  o'  money  to  bring  up 
these  children  the  way  she's  goin'  on,  I  can 
tell  her ;  white  petticoats  and  pantalettes,  a 
snarl  of  'em  in  the  wash  every  week — mabbe 
they  do  wear  and  wash  better  than  colored 
ones,  but  there's  a  heap  o'  work  in  it,  I  know 
that ;  and  all  to  be  mended  and  made !  I 
guess  old  Patty  Train  won't  rust  out  yet 
awhile !" 

"  And  she  doesn't  want  to,"  I  say,  laying 
a  hand  gently  on  her  arm ;  "  she's  glad  to  be 
a  help  t  >  me  and  to  be  useful  in  the  world. " 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  22$ 

"  Wall,  if  I  be,  I  don't  know  as  you  need 
to  be  a  twittin'  on  me  about  it,"  she  says, 
but  says  it  with  a  smile  about  her  lips  and 
chin;  and  when  Laura,  our  dear,  sweet, 
lovely  Laura  comes  gliding  in  and  says, — 

"  You  must  come  down,  Miss  Patty,  and 
help  us  tie  the  wreaths  for  the  birthday 
party,"  she  suffers  herself  to  be  carried  away 
captive ;  indeed,  Laura  can  always  do  what 
she  pleases  with  Miss  Patty,  leading  her  by 
the  silken  cord  of  love ;  for  her  old  heart 
opened  years  ago  to  take  the  little  blind  girl 
in,  and  it  has  been  the  gentler  and  the 
•varmer  for  it  ever  since. 

Laura  is  the  next  figure  in  our  family 
group  ;  Mary  Sterling  would  have  been,  but 
three  years  ago  she  was  spirited  off  West  by 
a  grave  sensible  man,  several  years  her  se- 
nior, to  be  mother-in-law  to  two  small  chil- 
dren. It  was  an  irreparable  loss  to  me,  but 
she  seems  very  happy,  having  one  little  boy 
of  her  own,  whom  she  has  named  Graham 
Kingston.  She  sent  me  his  photograph  the 
othei  day,  and  says,  "  If  he  should  ever  in 


224  OUR    TWO  LIVES- 

the  least  resemble  him  whose  name  he  bears, 
my  fondest  hope  will  be  realized." 

Laura  is  now  fourteen  years  old  ;  small  of 
her  age,  and,  with  an  exceeding  grace  of 
form  and  movement,  she  is,  if  not  beautiful; 
a  wonderfully  lovely  and  attractive  girl; 
still,  as  when  she  first  came  to  us,  our  singing 
birdie,  our  sweet  violet,  our  hearts'  delight. 
She  was  just  the  child  to  pet,  and  seemed 
not  to  spoil  by  petting ;  still  I  have  no  doubt 
it  was  good  for  her  to  live  with  other  chil- 
dren and  not  to  be  the  sole  object  of  care 
and  thought.  She  was  passionately  fond  of 
Baby  Walter — so  we  named  the  nameless 
child  that  came  to  us — and  lavished  on  him 
all  the  wealth  of  her  loving  nature,  and  his 
death  was  a  bitter  grief  to  her ;  for  in  spite 
of  all  the  love  and  tending  we  could  give 
the  little  stranger  —  certainly  the  loveliest 
baby  I  ever  saw  —  he  drooped  and  pined 
away,  closing  his  eyes  and  going  to  sleep  in 
my  arms  just  three  months  after  I  brought 
him  home.  We  laid  him  to  rest  beside  our 
darling  Bessie ;  a  sweet  spot,  to  which  the 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  22$ 

children  love  to  go,  always  carrying  flow- 
ers to  scatter  over  the  two  little  graves. 
Strangely  did  my  heart  cling  to  that  little 
nursling,  and  when  he  left  me  I  shed  many 
tears.  But  it  was  pleasant  to  think  of  him 
as  being  welcomed  in  heaven  by  my  dear 
husband  and  child,  who  I  was  sure  would 
love  him  for  my  sake. 

"  As  a  twig  trembles  which  a  bird 
Lights  on  to  sing,  its  leaves  unbent, 
So  was  my  memory  thrilled  and  stirred — 
I  only  know  he  came  and  went." 

The  going  out  of  a  baby-life  is  a  small 
thing  outside  of  its  home,  but  it  was  deeply 
felt  by  every  member  of  our  little  house- 
hold, and  left  softening  memories  in  all  our 
hearts. 

Laura  is,  of  course,  more  dependent  in 
certain  ways  than  other  children,  but  I 
hardly  know  how  a  child  could  have  been 
a  sweeter  companion  or  comforter  than  she 
has  been  from  the  moment  she  first  nestled 
herself  to  sleep  on  my  bosom  ;  and  hundreds 


226  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

and  hundreds  of  times  have  I  thanked  God 
for  putting  it  into  my  heart  to  bring  her 
into  my  home.  I  hope  to  keep  her  always 
with  me,  if  her  life  is  spared ;  she  will  be 
less  likely  to  marry  than  if  she  had  sight, 
and  I  do  not  think  she  will  be  miserable 
with  me,  her  heart  is  so  good  and  loving. 
She  is  having  every  advantage  in  the  way 
of  a  musical  education  I  can  give  her,  foi 
her  exquisite  ear  and  voice  seemed  to  de- 
mand it,  and  her  proficiency  delights  all  hei 
masters.  It  will  enable  her  to  support  her- 
self by  teaching  music,  should  it  ever  be- 
come necessary,  which  I  trust  it  never  will. 
But  I  should  not  feel  that  I  had  done  my 
whole  duty  if  any  one  of  the  children  was 
left  unprepared  to  gain  his  or  her  own  live- 
lihood, if  it  ever  should  be  desirable  to,  in 
the  changes  that  may  come. 

Mark  Barry,  twelve  years  old  last  month, 
is  to-day  as  curious  a  compound  of  good, 
bad,  and  extraordinary  traits,  oddly  jumbled 
together,  as  can  well  be  imagined.  Capa- 
ble, restless,  quick-tempered,  impatient  of 


OUR    TWO   LIVES.  22? 

control,  yet  warm-hearted  and  anxious  to 
please  ;  caring  little  for  study,  yet  making 
rapid  progress  whenever  a  sudden  fit  of  ap- 
plication takes  him  ;  doing  something  he 
ought  not  to  every  hour  of  his  life,  yet  re- 
penting violently ;  he  has  caused  me  more 
anxiety  than  all  the  other  children  put  to- 
gether— yes,  ten  times  over.  Yet  wilful, 
wayward,  perplexing,  wearing  as  he  is,  I 
have  never  regretted  taking  him  ;  if  ever  a 
boy  needed  the  restraining,  softening  influ- 
ences of  a  home,  he  did,  and  I  have  as  yet  a, 
strong  hold  on  him  through  his  affections 
If  I  find  he  is  outgrowing  me,  Mr.  Dean, 
Mary  Sterling's  husband,  has  promised  to 
take  him  out  West  with  him  and  give  him 
a  good  business  education,  and  no  better 
guardian  or  home  could  have  been  found. 
It  would  be  a  sore  wrench  to  part  with  him  ; 
for  the  generous,  impulsive,  reckless  boy  is 
very  dear  to  me,  and  I  have  great  confi- 
dence that  the  good  in  him  will  eventually 
get  the  upper  hand,  and  he  make  an  ener- 
getic, useful  man;  if  he  can  only  acquire 


228  OUR    TWO   LIVES. 

self-control,  he  would  be  sure  to;  but  he 
sadly  lacks  that  now ;  perhaps  I  expect  too 
much  of  him,  and  make  less  allowance  than 
a  man  would  for  the  impetuosity  of  a  boy's 
nature. 

Lucy  and  Fanny,  now  eight  years  old, 
are  two  as  rosy,  stout,  healthy-looking  chil- 
dren as  one  often  sees,  neither  of  them  at  all 
pretty,  but  quiet,  nice-looking  girls  ;  neither 
of  them  are  remarkable  in  any  way,  but 
both  of  them  are  very  dear  to  me ;  and  to 
watch  their  unfolding  in  these  five  years, 
has  been  a  constant  source  of  interest  and 
pleasure.  I  shall  never  let  them  go  from 
me  unless  to  homes  of  their  own,  for  they 
have  grown  into  my  heart  almost  as  if  they 
were  my  own  children. 

To-day  is  their  birthday,  at  least  the  day 
we  observe  as  such ;  for,  no  one  knowing 
the  precise  day  of  their  birth,  we  have  fixed 
on  the  one  they  first  came  to  me  as  the 
most  appropriate,  and  I  call  them  my  June 
children.  Laura's  comes  in  October,  on 
the  same  day  as  my  darling  Bessie's. 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  229 

They  are  having  a  .grand  frolic  down- 
stairs with  a  dozen  or  so  of  their  play-mates  ; 
each  of  their  two  fair,  young  heads  being 
crowned  with  a  wreath  of  roses,  and  each 
wearing  a  white  muslin  dress,  as  Bessie 
wore  so  long  ago.  I  like  to  think  that  her 
spirit  may  be  hovering  near,  rejoicing  in  all 
the  joy  that  comes  to  me.  As  usual,  Fanny 
is  the  merriest,  Mark  the  noisiest,  and  Lucy 
the  quietest  of  the  party.  I  am  to  go  down 
and  cut  the  pretty  birthday  cake  for  them  ; 
and  am  glad  to  feel  that  Auntie,  as  they  all 
call  me,  does  not  cast  a  shadow  on  their 
gayest  mood,  and  that  the  day  would  not 
for  them  be  quite  complete  without  her 
presence  and  sympathy  for  a  little  while. 

Yes,  they  are  all  dear  children,  and  often 
when  I  look  on  their  healthy  faces  and  stur- 
dy figures,  I  think  how  different  it  might 
have  been  had  they  stayed  in  the  alley 
where  I  found  them.  Whatever  mistakes 
I  may  have  made  in  their  training,  they 
certainly  are  better  off  with  me  than  they 
would  have  been  there, 
30  • 


230 


OUR    TWO  LIVES. 


I  have  been  down  and  joined  the  little 
folks  at  the  refreshment  table ;  it  was  a 
pretty  gathering,  lively  and  merry  without 
being  rude  ;  my  only  fear  was  that  some  of 
them  would  kill  themselves  by  over-eating ; 
but  my  experience  with  children  is  accus- 
toming me  to  marvellous  performances  in 
that  line ;  so  I  hope  none  of  them  will  suf- 
fer. It  was  pleasant  to  watch  their  bright 
faces  and  their  enjoyment  of  the  meal ;  and 
when,  after  a  great  deal  of  winking  and 
nodding,  and  looking  wise,  and  going  out 
and  coming  in,  Mark  appeared,  attired  as 
an  Apollo,  I  believe,  certainly  as  somebody, 
with  a  vast  amount  of  green  wreaths  hang- 
ing round  him,  and  a  great  deal  of  silver 
tissue  paper,  in  the  form  of  stars  and  suns, 
glittering  on  his  breast,  who,  mounted  on  a 
rostrum,  alias  a  shawl-covered  box,  recited 
five  stanzas  of  original  poetry,  composed  for 
the  occasion,  in  a  sonorous  voice,  with  many 
striking  and  remarkable  gesticulations,  the 
joy  and  glory  of  the  day  was  at  its  height ; 
the  acclamations  and  applause  unbounded 


OUR    TU'O  LIVES.  231 

I  well  knew  who  was  our  poet  laureate  ;  no 
one  but  Laura  was  equal  to  such  a  feat  as 
that.  It  was  very  prettily  done,  and  the 
lines  very  good  for  a  child  ;  if  they  had 
some  halting  measures  and  overstrained  ex- 
pressions, there  was  genuine  feeling  in  them, 
and  I  was  especially  touched  by  an  allusion 
to  her  mother  and  to  Graham,  as, — 

"Guardian  angels  fondly  watching  o'er  us." 

And  I  pressed  the  blushing  girl  to  my  heart, 
Feeling  really  grateful  for  her  little  effort, 
at  the  same  time  warmly  congratulating  the 
orator  of  the  day  on  his  eminent  success. 
Nothing  could  exceed  Miss  Patty's  wonder 
and  delight,  and  her  repeated  exclamations 
of,  "  I  never  did  see  the  beat  o'  that,"  added 
to  the  universal  joy. 

The  day,  however,  did  not  wind  up  with- 
out an  accident-  -it  would  have  been  a  mar- 
vel if  it  had — for  Mark,  having  conceived 
the  grand  project  of  letting  off  a  few  fire- 
works, of  course  achieved  an  exp  osion,  and 
half  frightened  me  out  of  my  senses  by 


232  OUR    TWO  LIVES. 

rushing  in  with  half  his  hair  singed  off,  and 
his  hands  and  face  blackened,  and  some- 
what scorched.  Binding  up  his  face  in 
cream,  and  getting  him  to  bed,  has  been  lor 
me  the  closing  performance  of  the  day.  But 
the  poor  boy  was  very  patient  and  cares- 
sing, and  as  he  really  meant  no  harm,  I 
could  not  blame  him  ;  I  was  only  too  thank- 
ful no  more  serious  harm  was  done.  But  a 
boy  is  an  anxiety ! 

It  is  all  still  in  the  house  now;  I  have 
gone  my  nightly  round,  looking  into  every 
room,  beginning  with  Miss  Patty  and  end- 
ing with  the  twins.  All  are  buried  in  quiet 
slumber,  and  I,  too,  am  peaceful ;  a  little 
weary,  but  very  grateful  for  all  the  good- 
ness which  surrounds  me. 

The  children  have  had  a  happy  day,  and 
so  have  I ;  and  if  there  have  been  mingling 
in  our  joy  companions  they  could  not  see — 
invisible  spirits  hovering  over  us  in  love 
and  blessing- -they  have  only  added  to,  not 
lessened,  my  delight. 

How  rich  I  am  to-night  in  my  heart  treas- 


OUR    TWO  LIVES.  233 

ures,  those  below  and  those  above  !  How 
full  is  life  of  healthful  interests  and  occupa- 
tion, and  how  rarely  do  I  ever  feel  lonely 
now  !  Why  should  I,  when  all  around  are 
those  I  love ;  while  above  bend  the  bright 
heavens — filled,  too,  with  friendly  faces,  and 
nearer  than  all,  more  loving  than  all,  is  He 
to  whom  I  owe  every  joy  and  hope,  the 
source  of  all  blessedness  in  earth  and  in 
heaven — Jesus  the  Christ,  the  Alpha  and 
Omega,  the  beginning  and  the  end  ? 

And  why  should  I  be  disheartened  when, 
amid  all  life's  cares  and  labors,  anxieties  and 
sorrows,  I  hear  a  voice  evermore  saying, 
"  Beloved,  now  are  we  the  sons  of  God ;  and  it 
doth  not  yet  appear  what  we  shall  be,  but  we 
know  that  when  He  shall  appear,  we  shall  bt 
like  Him,  for  we  shall  see  Him  as  He  is"  ? 


THE  END. 


SPARE-HOUR   SERIES. 


Avis  BENSON  ;  or,  Mine  and  Thine :  with  other 

Sketches.    By  Mrs.  E.  Prentiss,  author  of  "  Stepping 

Heavenward,  '  etc.  i6mo.  Cloth,  $1.25. 
"  Incidents  of  common  life  wrought  up  into  a  series  of 
interesting  sketches,  bearing  the  seal  of  good  taste,  invent- 
ive fancy,  and  rare  practical  wisdom.  The  author  has 
evinced  a  remarkable  aptitude  for  effective  narrative,  a  pe- 
culiar power  of  drawing  a  salutary  moral  from  events  in  the 
usual  dorrestic  routine,  and  a  delicate  choice  of  language, 
equally  renned  and  simple,  leaving  a  beautiful  memorial  of 
high  hlavy  culture  and  admirable  mental  habits,  as  well 
as  of  pur'  ind  noble  moral  aims.1'— New  York  Tribune. 

THE  OSEGO  CHRONICLES  ;    or,  the  Kuylers 

and    rheir    Friends.      By   Mary  B.    Sleight,  author   of 
"1-rairie  Days,"  etc.     i6mo.    Cloth,  $1.25. 
"  A  charming  picture   of  home-life   in    the   country."— 
National  Baptist. 

"  Perfectly  wholesome,  yet  absorbingly  interesting  story. 
We  know  r>f  nothing  better  in  this  branch  of  literature  than 
this  booV  nothing  more  interesting  or  more  profitable."— 
Nevi  York  Evening  Post. 

WILFRED  :   A  Story  with  a  Happy  Ending. 

B>  A.  T.  Winthrop.     i6mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

"  A  charming  story  which  can  not  fail  to  interest  young 
people,  and  will  certainly  profit  them." — Methodist. 

"  Pure  and  healthful  in  tone  and  with  a  management  of 
incidents  that  is  pretty  sure  to  hold  the  interest." — Golden 

'•  SkilH-'ly  constructed,  gracefully  told."— Christian  In- 
tellige  ncer . 
"  A  simple,  delightful,  carefully-written  story." — Chicago 

MY  FATHER  AND  I :  and  Helva's  Child.    By 

Katharine  M.  March.  One  volume.  i6mo.  Cloth,  $1.00. 
"  These  are  sweet  and  pleasing  stories,  the  first  being  sort 
of  a  prose  idyl,  while  the  other  is  a  pretty  norse  romance, 
and  both  are  excellent."—  New  York  Evening  Post. 

"  Great  merit  in  style,  power  to  interest,  and  excellent 
moral  lesson  inculcated  in  each  story." — Advocatt  6* 
Guardian. 

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ALHAMBRA  AND  THE   KREMLIN   (The).    The 
North  and   the   South   of  Europe,  including  Spain 
Switzerland,  Russia,  Finland,  Norway,  Sweden,  Po- 
land,   and    Denmark.     By    Samuel   Irenseus    Prime. 
Sixty-two  illustrations.     8vo.     Cloth,  $2.00. 
Dr.  Prime  brings  the  experience  of  a  veteran  traveler  to  the  de- 
Kiription  of  social  conditions  and  natural  feature?  of  a  widely-con 
trasted  character,  and,  to  a  certain  extent,  remote  from  the  beaten 
path  of  American  tourists.     His  narrative,  accordingly,  has  the 
eharm  of  novelty,  while  his  habit  of  vigilant  observation,  bis  un- 
failing good  sense,  and  his  kindly  disposition  make  it  no  less  in- 
utructive  than  it  ie  agreeable.— New  York  Tribune. 

To  those  who  can  not  see  the  Alhambra  aud  the  Kremlin  with 
Iheir  own  eyes,  the  engravings  here  offered  will  go  far  toward  rec- 
onciling them  to  the  fate  that  debars  them  from  travel.— N.  T.  World. 
Highly  intellectual  and  refined  in  its  tone.— Art  Journal. 

THROUGH  NORMANDY.  ByKathermeS.MacquoM. 
Illustrated  by  Thomas  R.  Macquoid.  90  illustrations. 
12mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

We  need  hardly  tell  our  readers  that  the  region  to  which  this  vol- 
nme  relates  is  one  of  the  most  picturesque  in  all  the  continent,  as 
tourists  are  fast  finding  out.  This  book  puts  Normandy  under  the 
microscope,  and  by  the*pow«  of  apt  description,  aided  by  numerous 
and  well-executed  illustrations,  brings  out  the  peculiarities  of  its 
•ecu cry,  the  charms  of  its  architecture,  and  the  quaintaess  of  its 
manners,  costumes^  etc.,  In  a  striking  manner. — Oongregationalist. 

One  reads  with  astonishment  of  magnificent  architectural  remains 
that  tend  to  show  to  what  a  high  pitch  art  had  been  carried  bef or« 
England  was  much  more  tban  a  country  of  barbarians.  The  volume 
will  repay  a  close  perusal.— N.  T.  Observer. 

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